Room 243
by Craft Rose
Summary: Rose Weasley has come down with dragon pox and must spend the next two weeks recovering at St. Mungo's Hospital, where she is assigned to Healer Draco Malfoy. Recently divorced and increasingly lethargic, Draco is comforted by the quick-witted girl in Room 243, and at odds with his growing attachment towards her.
1. Admission

**A/N: Trying something new. I'm nervous about this one lol. **

**Here's a small intro chapter to start:**

"_Mr. Malfoy —_"

It was on rare occasion that there was more to do in the Magical Bugs and Diseases ward, than sit in his office and sift through medical journals. Most patients were admitted short-term and sent home within an hour or two of treatment. Those that weren't, were usually assigned to the Senior Healer of the Second Floor, which left Draco Malfoy to question his specialization.

"_Mr. Malfoy —_" someone urged. "You're needed in Room 243_ — _at once_. _"

Draco fixed his attention to the door, and found one of the nurses. An elderly witch called Hilda, with more knowledge of medical practice than half the Healers at St. Mungo's, but none of the credentials to back it up.

Sensing there was more than the usual case of scrofungulus, Draco rose from his chair that same second and met the witch in the corridor. "What the problem?" he asked, flipping through of the case file, as she handed it to him.

"Beginning stages of dragon pox," she hurriedly explained, matching his stride and weaving with him through the corridor. "Light rashes between toes and fingers, but no colour change to the skin. Patient is seventeen years old, and fell ill—"

" — three nights ago," he read out loud, tucking the file under his arm and opening the door to Room 243.

Inside, there were seven more nurses moving about; some readying equipment, and others tending to the patient. As with most cases of dragon pox, the temperature in the room was significantly hotter than usual and carried with it, the smell of freshly burnt matches.

Suffice to say, he hadn't seen this much action in months.

Draco blazed into the room, and moved directly to the bed.

On top, there was an ailing witch, with an almost translucent look about her skin, and fiery red hair to match the burn marks around her nose and upper lip. It was a common occurrence, as fiery sneezes were the earliest indicators that a patient had dragon pox, as opposed to chicken pox. This particular patient was noticeably younger than usual victims of dragon pox, and appeared just as sickly and delirious as the notes described.

"You're not Healer Jenkins…" she murmured, incredibly disoriented, as he sat her upright and began to check her vitals. "Unless…Healer Jenkins…lost a ton of weight…and…stopped being…bald…"

He tossed her a concentrated look. "Breathe in for me, Miss —"

" — Weasley," one of the nurses finished, sensing his lapse in memory.

Draco ceased movement, noting the redness of his patient's hair and the way it seemed to have a life of its own.

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Make sure to tell me what you think, if you like the concept or not. **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	2. Day One

**A/N: Chapter Two! **

**_7:00AM_**

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco stood at the front desk of the Second Floor, having written a prescription for one of the older patients in his ward. It took him a couple tries before he managed to write something legible, but that was his curse as a physician. He then turned to the left and found Hilda, with another look of urgency about her. Something was wrong.

"Mr. Malfoy," she continued, addressing him using his surname, but with an air of familiarity that was earned after working alongside one another for over a decade. "There's been a complication with Miss Weasley in Room 243. It seems she's had an allergic reaction to one of the level three ingredients in the cure you prescribed. I've put her on alternative treatment for the time being, as Healer Jenkins instructed, but I thought you should know before —"

"Hold on —" Draco racked through his brain, having slept for an accumulated two or three hours since the start of the week. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I don't recall reading anything about allergies in Miss Weasley's file."

"That's because she was never previously tested for level three ingredients," Hilda explained. "Most people don't undergo testing until their career requires it."

"Ridiculous societal norm," he muttered in response, nodding thanks to the nurse behind the front desk, as she handed him the updated file. "Be that as it may, how is our patient responding to the alternative treatment?"

"No complications."

Draco nodded his head. "Good."

"Although…" Hilda continued. "She does seem quite depressed."

"Depressed?"

The Head Nurse nodded in confirmation, motioning for him to follow her to Room 243. "To my knowledge, this is her first time in a hospital on her own, and both her parents are overseas on Auror business."

"_Both_ of them?" he asked. "I never imagined Ronald Weasley would become an Auror."

Hilda wore a look of surprise. "Are you acquainted with Miss Weasley's parents?"

"Er —" Draco paused in thought. "Sort of."

From there, the conversation faded out, as they arrived at the door to Room 243. Draco entered, with Hilda on his heels, and found an empty room, save for the frail looking witch snuggled on the thin single bed — asleep. Thankfully, she was positioned in such a way that didn't disturb the IV line. Upon further inspection, he noticed her skin had a subtle greenish tinge to it, as she had been taken off of the usual treatment that was used combat colour change.

Draco moved to her bedside and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "Fever has gone down," he noticed. "Good."

After making some quick notes on the file, he tucked the document under his arm and looked to Hilda.

"Keep her on alternative treatment. If there are any complications, let me know as soon as you can. If that means sending me an owl in the middle of the night — so be it. Healer Jenkins needn't be involved."

Hilda responded to him with a knowing look. "As you wish, Mr. Malfoy."

It seemed his rivalry with the Senior Healer was no secret to the rest of the hospital staff. Even so, it wasn't so much a rivalry, as it was Draco having to constantly prove himself as a skilled practitioner of Healing, and Jenkins' constant skepticism. Quite childish, for a pair of adults, but he supposed things like that were common in the workplace. Still, he didn't need recognition. Society didn't owe him a plaque for recommending dittany to victims of splinching. His job was no greater than janitorial staff at the Ministry. Like everyone else in the world, he was just trying to get by without breaking the rules. Merlin knew he had broken enough of them as a teenager.

The rest of his day went on without a hitch.

* * *

><p><strong><em>11:00PM<em>**

"Oh, come on!" Blaise countered, tilting back another pint. "You can't leave _now_."

Draco shrugged on his leather jacket, and had a look at the time on his wristwatch. It was nearly midnight, which meant he didn't have much time to waste. "Sorry, mate —" The deadline was in an hour. "Next pint is on me. Promise."

"No, no, no…" his friend argued. "You're staying right here in this pub. The girls will be here any minute."

"I can't," Draco said to him. "If I don't get to my office right now and finish that application, I'll miss the deadline, and I'll have to wait another year before applying to the programme."

"What's this programme about then, hmm?"

"Potions and Plant Poisoning," he answered, placing money on the table. "Advanced stuff."

Blaise folded his arms; unamused. "I can't believe you're going to miss out on the night of your life for _Potions and Plant Poisoning_. These girls are French, Draco. _French_. Do you know what that means?" he asked. "No rules. None."

"Brilliant," the Healer remarked. "You can have both of them."

For a moment, Blaise considered the idea. "You know what? No. You're not doing this. You're not ditching me again. What was the bloody point of getting divorced, if you're never going to take advantage of your freedom?"

Draco tossed him an even look.

"Too soon?" his friend asked, lips twitching into an innocent smile.

"I'll see you 'round," he decided, pushing those looming thoughts aside. "Stay out of trouble."

With that, Draco made his way out of the pub and into an unoccupied street corner of London, before Apparating to St. Mungo's. It wasn't usually permitted, but because he was a Healer, he had privilege to zip in and out without restriction. Unlike his earlier shift, the corridors weren't bustling with hospital staff and visitors. There was no one, apart from him and some nurses at the front desk. The corridors were dim and unusually quiet.

Treading lightly, he traveled to the Second Floor and into his office. It was a decent size, with a simulated view of his choosing (Hogwarts Castle, at that moment) and carried with it the basics: desk, filing cabinet, and mini sitting area, as well as his certification hanging on the far wall. The other Healers found it peculiar that he had no personal items (e.g. family photographs) but he preferred the minimalist look.

Plus, the last thing he needed were reminders of his abysmal personal life.

Pushing those thoughts even further back, Draco sifted through the stack of paperwork atop his desk, before locating the application. It took another ten minutes before he hammered through it. Everything was in order. Recommendations? _Check. _Essay? _Check_. Qualifications? _Check_. If he hadn't been operating on four hours' worth of sleep, he would have remembered the deadline was midnight. But, his insomnia had reached new heights. Bit dangerous for a Healer, of course.

That in mind, he made mental note to brew some Sleeping Draught for the weekend.

Once the the application was sent, he left his office and locked the door on his way out. Again, it was dead silent. Each step he took was punctuated with an echo that sounded through the slim corridors. He'd forgotten what it was like to be there so late at night, having done rotation night shifts much, much earlier in his career.

For someone of thirty-five, he was fairly accomplished. Perhaps that was the reason Jenkins gave him such a difficult time. Nonetheless, the skepticism and doubts kept his mind sharp. The last thing he wanted was to get comfortable. There was nothing worse than a comfortable Healer. It was his job to be thorough.

Bearing that, Draco looked to the left and noticed Room 243.

Despite the fact that Hilda hadn't alerted him with complications of any sort, he thought it best to go in there and check for himself. With his luck, Rose Weasley could also have been allergic to the alternative treatment.

Probably not.

But still.

Inside, the room was quiet and dimly lit. He was glad to see there were some flowers and cards placed near the window. She had visitors earlier on. _Good_. Smiling faintly, he drew his attention to the tiny bed and was surprised to find a pair of blue eyes staring back at him.

"You're awake —" he remarked.

Sitting up, with her back against the wall, and a thin white sheet draped over her legs, was Rose Weasley. "So are you," she said to him, setting down what looked like her diary.

Draco folded his arms. "I'm not the one with dragon pox."

"Well, if you had enough sleep, maybe you would have known I was allergic to that weird stuff."

An unexpected silence swept over him. "Er —"

"Kidding," Rose interjected, smiling. "I'm very grateful that you and the nurses are helping me."

"No need," he assured the girl, moving closer to check the medication connected to her IV, and returning her smile with one that felt foreign to his mouth. "It's our job to help."

"I imagine it's a stressful thing to do," she furthered. "Being a Healer, I mean."

"It can be," he answered. "But it's also rewarding — helping people, learning from each case, and applying that knowledge to the next one. Are you thinking of becoming a Healer?"

Rose scoffed at the idea. "Six years of post-Hogwarts education? _No thanks_. I happen to value my social life."

Draco looked at the girl, laughing a little. "So, what's the plan then?"

"After graduation?" she asked, thinking, with a slightly dazed look in her eyes. "I'm going to take a gap year, and travel loads. I want to see _everything _the world has to offer."

"It'll probably take more than a year to see the world."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "And _that_ is why I plan on becoming a photojournalist. I'll get to travel and work at the same time," she told him. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

Draco nodded, smiling. "Sounds like a fine idea."

"I bet you've been everywhere."

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Permission granted."

"You seem a bit, erm, over it. Like, been-there-done-that. I don't know if that's rude of me to say, but…"

"No, you're right." Draco admitted. "I've been places and seen some things, and as much as I would love to bore you with the details surrounding _my_ gap year in Amsterdam, I think it's time you got some rest. Wouldn't you agree?"

Rose scrunched her mouth, frowning a bit. "Fine," she decided, a moment later. "But only if you get some rest, too. Deal?"

Both heartened and amused, Draco moved to the door and glanced back. "Deal," he said to her, dimming the lights a little more. "Good night, Miss Weasley."

"Night."

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter. Be sure to tell me what you think! **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	3. Day Two

**A/N: Chapter Three! **

**_1:30PM _**

It was during his lunch hour that a visitor arrived. Draco craned his neck to the door, and found a tall, slender woman with dark hair and ivory skin.

"Pansy —" he voiced, setting down his quill. "What are you doing here?"

She entered, fixing her eyes in every direction but his, tracing the tips of her fingers along the wall and then, along his desk. "I've been meaning to visit for quite some time."

Draco studied her; the crimson stain of her lips and the emerald satin of her robes. A lesser man would surely have fallen victim to these tactics, but he'd known Pansy Parkinson long enough to feel the rhythmic pulse before the venom flooded his veins.

"You want something," he deduced, leaning back in his chair. "What is it?"

She flicked her eyes at him. "Guess."

As she had both money and connections in the wizarding community, he knew the core of her presence had nothing to do with monetary or societal gain. There was something else at play, and as she lowered her body along the edge of his desk, the truth was glaringly obvious.

Draco narrowed his gaze. "You were never good at playing coy."

"What can I say?" Pansy voiced, scanning her nails. "Patience is a virtue, and it so happens I have neither."

Her eyes fell on him.

"I appreciate the world play," he said to her. "But I'm afraid now is not the time. I've work to do, and sick people to heal. This is a hospital, you see…"

"Oh, come now…" the witch pouted, moving to the front of his desk and leaning close. "Surely, you can spare a moment for your old friend Pansy."

"No more than a minute," he reflected, sparing one look at his wristwatch. " — which is the exact amount of time it takes, for me to leave this office and check on my first patient. Tough luck."

"Did I mention I'm wearing your favourite colour?" Pansy furthered, biting her bottom lip, ever so slightly. "Sangria."

He arched an eyebrow. "Your robes are green, dear friend."

She smiled, expectantly, and leaned even closer. So close, that her lips brushed his earlobe, and the scent of her Chanel perfume filled his nostrils. "Take a closer look," Pansy whispered to him, delivering a soft stream of air to his skin. "Underneath."

For a moment, he closed his eyes — susceptible to her warmth, the sound of her voice, and the feel of her lips on his neck, as she kissed him there. Many days had passed since the last time he felt the touch of another person. Close to one year. It paralyzed him a little, the heart-stopping sweep of desperation that _just nearly _coaxed him into reciprocating Pansy's advances.

And perhaps he would have, had she arrived a day or two sooner.

"Pansy…" he said to her. "You know we can't do this."

"Always so timid," she persisted, brushing her lips along the column of his throat. "Now is not the time for your modesty, sweet Draco."

He breathed in, falling victim to his urges a second longer, and then leaning back, grasping her hands by the wrists before she reached his belt. "My answer is no," he iterated, resolute in his decision.

She stared at him a long while. "Your self-discipline is both admirable and infuriating."

He released her wrists. "For me as well," he offered.

Silenced by the rejection, Pansy rose to her feet, sparing no more than a look before leaving him to his own devices.

At that point, it seemed the day would never end.

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:35PM<em>**

Rose stared at the ticking clock. It was nearing time for her to sleep. Any moment, Nurse Hilda would come in and check on her. She liked the elderly witch, but something about her sternness reminded Rose too much of Headmistress McGonagall. Like Minerva, it seemed Hilda had it on good authority that anyone with the surname 'Weasley' required extra discipline. Having heard stories of her father and uncles, Rose didn't blame the older witches for being so cautious.

Even so, she was beginning to tire of St. Mungo's. It wasn't so much the idea of being alone that bothered her. It was being confined to one space. Cabin fever, the Muggles called it. Rose hated that most of all, watching her days pass on by with neither the energy nor permission needed to venture outside the white-walled facility.

Her cousins Albus and Dominique had, of course, come to visit, but falling ill with dragon pox in the middle of the school year meant their visits were permitted only during the weekend. Uncle Harry dropped by the first day, offering his quick charm and assuring her that her parents would return from their undercover mission as soon as possible. Though, Rose knew well enough that Uncle Harry was simply being kind, and that her parents wouldn't return until their mission was a success.

Weeks.

Perhaps months.

It wasn't their fault. During the summers, when she was home from school, they never signed on to prolonged, undercover missions. Her body truly had chosen the most inopportune time to fall ill. She wasn't particularly studious like her mother, nor was she sociable like her father, but she hated missing school.

There was something about catching up in seventh year NEWT-level classes that made her want to fall face first into the Great Lake.

Thankfully, Albus brought with him some coursework from Transfiguration, Potions, and Defence Against Dark Arts. That way, she wouldn't have a mountain of assignments to do once she was discharged from the hospital. Plus, she valued the distraction. There were only so many times in a day she could write in her diary. Truth be told, she didn't have much to write about other than how strange and unattractive she felt, having green skin. Okay, so it wasn't _bright_ _green_, but it was green enough for outsiders to react whenever they laid eyes on her. In fact, the only person who didn't seem to react was Nurse Hilda.

To be fair, Nurse Hilda didn't react to most things. She'd clearly seen some disturbing shit, as a nurse at St. Mungo's. Green skin didn't faze her. That much was obvious.

Then, there was Healer Malfoy…

Death Eater-turned-miracle worker. Stoic…intellectual…older without looking it, Healer Malfoy.

Rose took a deep breath, deciding it was time for another diary entry.

* * *

><p><strong><em>12:05AM<em>**

Draco closed the door to his office, and locked it with the flick of his wand, before proceeding through the empty corridor. As predicted, his day had been long and tiresome. For once, he was glad to go home and rest. But, the moment he stepped out of his office and headed for the lift, a nighttime nurse came sprinting his way.

"Mr. Malfoy! Thank goodness you're still here."

"Esther —" he started. "Are you all right? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's not me. It's Rose Weasley. She — She's locked herself in the loo, and won't come out."

Draco tossed the witch a look of bewilderment. "What? Why would she do that?"

"Her skin. It's turned a more vivid shade of green. She doesn't want to be seen. I — I tried telling her it's normal for dragon pox, but she won't listen. Please, Healer Malfoy. You have to help. Her medication was due for replacement ten minutes ago, and if we wait any longer, her fever will be back up and we'll be forced to render her unconscious until —"

"**Esther**," he interjected, staring her straight in the eye, waiting until she settled. "It's fine. You've done nothing wrong. I'll handle Rose."

"But —"

"Take a break. Get hydrated. Return to your shift, when you're clear of mind."

Esther stared at him, dumfounded. "Really?"

"Really," Draco confirmed, patting her on the shoulder. "Go on."

It took some more convincing, but the nurse eventually listened to him and headed for the staff room. She was a young nurse. Gullible. Bit of a head-case. It wasn't so long ago that he'd been the same; flustered by his co-workers and patients, and their many personalities. But the longer he spent on the job, the easier it became to understand _people_.

Teenaged girls, on the other hand…

Draco entered the room, noting the empty bed.

"_I'm not coming out!_"

His attention drifted to the loo, which was locked shut. Temporarily uncertain, as to what he should do, he settled for the honest approach and raised one hand to the door, knocking on it.

"Rose? It's me."

For a moment, there was no sound from the other end. Part of him wondered if she'd heard him at all. Often times, untreated dragon pox did start to impact ones hearing. Suddenly worried, he knocked again.

"It's Healer Malfoy," he tried. "If you don't mind, I'd like to replenish your medication."

"_What happened to Nurse Esther?_"

Draco paused. "I — I had some free time, and decided to take over her duties."

"_In other words, she bailed because I'm being difficult._"

"I don't think 'difficult' is the right word to use," he offered. "You're going through a lot. It's okay to be scared, Rose."

"_I'm _**_not_**_ scared._"

"You sure? I know I'd be scared, if I had dragon pox."

She scoffed from the other side. "_That's reassuring._"

Draco smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "What if I told you I'm making a topical cream in the lab? One, that, if applied correctly, will restore your skin to its natural colour_._"

"_Do not toy with me, good sir._"

His smile deepened. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Rose paused before speaking. "_When will the cream be ready?_"

"Tomorrow."

"_Then I'll come out tomorrow._"

"Thing is, it'll only work if the medication you're taking is doing its job," he explained. "…which puts us at a road block, seeing as you're in there…and your medication is out here."

"_If this is a cheap ploy to get me to come outside…_"

"Oh, it most certainly is," Draco teased. "But I also want to see you get better, and the only way to ensure that happens, is for you to unlock this door and let me help you. Do you think you can do that for me, Rose?"

"_Are we on first name basis now?"_

"Sure," he decided. "Call me Draco."

She held onto the silence a moment longer. "_Like the constellation._"

"That's right," he furthered. "And you're Rose, like the flower."

What followed, was a lengthened and undisturbed break in conversation. Draco waited outside the door, moving back a couple steps when it finally opened. On the other side stood not a girl, but a young woman. She reached an inch or two below his shoulders. Short, but with enough of a presence that her height didn't matter.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did she.

Instead, he led her back to the bed and replenished the medication attached to her IV. Truth be told, he barely took notice of the greenish colour to her skin. It was dim in the room. Even so, she buried herself beneath the white sheet when all was said and done; showing him only her face.

"Sorry…for being…such a…teenager," she apologized. "It's just, my boyfriend visited me about three hours ago, and his reaction when he saw me was horrible."

Draco listened. Just then, he noticed the heart-shaped balloon in the corner of the room, as well as the stuffed teddy bear on her nightstand. "It's not easy seeing someone you care about in the hospital."

She glanced down. "Well, that's the thing. He didn't look sad. He looked…disgusted."

"Impossible," Draco countered, without hesitation. "I don't see anything disgusting."

Rose looked to him.

" —and I'm sure your boyfriend didn't see anything he would describe as 'disgusting' either," the man quickly added. "More often than not, teenaged boys are inclined to behave with ignorance and immaturity, and although such behaviour shouldn't be tolerated by bright young women such as yourself — I feel it's my duty to let you know it _does_ get better with age."

Her face screwed. "Are you telling me, my boyfriend can't help the fact that he's a twat?"

"I'm telling you there will come a day when he's less of a twat. Some day soon, if he has enough of a brain to understand the error in his ways. Tomorrow, maybe."

"That's doubtful," Rose snorted. "Anyway, thanks for the insight. I feel like I've wasted enough of your time. I — I'm sure you have better things to do than talk about my relationship problems."

Draco shrugged, smiling. "I don't mind. It's part of my job to make sure my patients are okay on an emotional level, as much as physical."

"What about you?" she inquired. "Who makes sure _you're _okay?"

"Er —"

"Sorry. That was nosy of me."

"Not at all. I just — I'm not used to patients inquiring as to my emotional state," he joked. "Threw me for a bit of a loop, if I'm honest."

Rose laughed a little. "I have that tendency."

"In any case, I think it's time you slept. Nurse Hilda will have my head if she knows I've kept you up."

"To be fair, I would have fallen asleep hours ago, had it not been for my…episode."

Draco neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply retreated to the door and turned around, bowing his head to her. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rose-like-the-flower."

She smiled. "And you, Draco-like-the-constellation."

With that, he faced the door, prepared to leave, when Rose blurted something extra.

"You've got lipstick on your neck, by the way. Did you know?" she asked. "Just there."

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Embarrassed and then alarmed, and everything he should have been, before both he and she broke out into fits of uncontrollable laughter. His luck was astounding. Truly.

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter. Don't forget to review. Your feedback makes this story possible! :) **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	4. Day Three & Four

**_10:43PM _**

Rose tossed and turned.

She couldn't sleep. More than that, there were no visitors that night. She had only herself, some coursework and her diary. On occasion, one of the nurses would enter and make adjustments to her medication, as well as the room, but that was all. It was lonely in the hospital. Worse of all, Healer Malfoy — Draco, as he asked to be called — was absent that day. Through some innocent eavesdropping, she managed to gather enough information to realize he'd been absent due to personal matters. Part of her wondered what those personal matters could be. Perhaps a woman? The same woman whose lipstick had been smudged along his neck.

For some reason, the idea of that made Rose uncomfortable.

To her knowledge, he was unmarried. His ring finger was bare. Though, he could still have been in a relationship. Or perhaps he preferred not to wear a ring at work — like her mother on Auror missions.

His love life was none of her business whatsoever. Even so, she couldn't help but speculate. Something about him — about Draco — kept her up at night and flooded her thoughts during the worst possible moments. Such as, but not limited to, the previous day, when her boyfriend had come to visit. She thought of Draco in that moment, wondering if he, too, found her green skin as repulsive as her boyfriend. Draco, of course, had brushed the mere notion of it aside and assured her there was nothing disgusting about her sickness, which could easily have been Healer-to-patient banter, but the reassurance was nice.

Admittedly, it was comforting hearing his voice on the other side of the door, when she'd locked herself in the loo.

_Damn_, she thought. _He probably knows I fancy him a bit. There are probably a million women in this place who would give their left tit for a chance with him. Women his age. Grown women. Just like the one who kissed him and left lipstick prints on his neck. _

She didn't like the predictability of the situation. Cute Healer. Teen girl. Her interest in him was not only expected, but inevitable. There was something inherently sexy about being healed and taken care of, by someone with _his_ past. A reformed criminal. An older one, at that.

Eighteen years older.

"Miss Weasley," one of the nurses voiced, entering the room with a pot of cream. "Healer Malfoy has asked that I give this to you."

Rose sat up, and found Esther. "Oh — "

"Would you like some help applying it, or…?"

"No, thanks," she said tot he nurse. "I think I can manage on my own."

Esther nodded once, and placed the cream on one of the side tables. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll be right outside."

Rose smiled in thanks and reached for the pot. It was small, the size of her palm, and inside, the cream was smooth and white. If she hadn't known better, she would have mistaken it for her mother's facial moisturizer.

"Erm — Esther?"

The nurse stopped near the door, and turned. "Something wrong?"

"No. I just — I was wondering if Healer Malfoy is here in the hospital."

Esther paused. "Yeah, he popped in to deliver the cream. Would like me to pass him a message? I'm sure he's still around somewhere."

Rose chewed on her lip a little. "Erm, maybe…maybe tell him thanks."

"Will do," the nurse smiled, tilting her head in farewell, before leaving the room.

* * *

><p><strong><em>5:30AM<em>**

Draco arrived at work bright and early.

It was a beautiful day in London, for mid-January. The skies were clear and although it was still a bit colder than he would have liked, the air was crisp and refreshing. Somewhat reluctant to leave the outdoors, he entered the hospital and proceeded to his floor. There weren't many staff members around; just enough to know the patients were well taken care of. After speaking to a few nurses, he proceeded through the corridors and made his rounds.

His first visit was to an elderly woman named Judith, who suffered from Vanishing Sickness. She was a kindhearted woman, whose children had unfortunately fallen in the war. Next, was an Irish bloke with Scrofungulus, and after him were a few others.

It was around an hour later, that Draco finally made it to Room 243.

In bed, dressed in a light blue-coloured hospital gown with her nose buried in a book, was Rose. She glanced up and greeted him with a smile. It was evident with the slight raise of her brow that she was surprised to see him. Perhaps after he'd missed the previous day. Though, it wasn't his fault his ex-wife was being mental and demanded ownership over _his _house and half of _his _income. Court appearances and meetings with solicitors weren't his favourite things to do, but he had no choice.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, making notes on his clipboard. "Any questions or concerns?"

"I'm feeling better. Not nearly as hot and stuffy as before," Rose explained, glancing down at her arms. "But, erm, I don't think the cream is working properly."

Draco shifted his attention from the clipboard, to the patient. Her skin was less green than it had been the last time he'd seen her, but there was still some unevenness and discolouration in her overall tone. "Would you mind showing me how you've been applying it?"

She paused a moment, before reaching for the pot of cream and gathering some on the tips of her fingers, rubbing it along her arms in long stretches.

"Ah — that's the problem," he deduced, tucking the clipboard under his arm and approaching. "Is it safe to assume Esther didn't help?"

Rose nodded. "I — erm — I told her I didn't need help."

"It's her job to help," Draco voiced, a bit ticked off. "No matter. I'm here now. I'll help."

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then closed it, choosing instead to hand him the pot of cream and watch with furtive looks, as he dipped a couple fingers inside and brought her hand into his, applying the substance with more of a gentle approach than she had taken. In small, tight circles, he massaged the cream onto the back of her hand, standing at her bedside as she sat up.

Rose bit her bottom lip.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing major," she said to him. "Just — I hope Esther doesn't get sacked or anything. It really wasn't her fault. I can be quite difficult."

Draco looked to her. "You needn't worry. At most, I'll have a word with her. Nothing official."

"Good," the young woman decided. "I think I've caused her enough grief."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he agreed that Rose wasn't the most cooperative patient in the ward, but he kind of liked that about her. She wasn't the naive, impressionable teenager he had expected. She knew what she liked. She knew what she didn't like. But, even those qualities couldn't dismiss the fact that there was something bothering her — something beyond Esther.

Having applied a generous amount of cream to both her hands, he handed the pot back to her, and made his way to the IV. There, resting on one of the side tables, was the same stuffed teddy bear from before. Being that he was close enough to have a proper look at it, he noticed there was a little card tied to its bowtie. It read: _Feel better. Love, Liam._

"You know," he started. "You'll be here for awhile longer. It might be nice to decorate the place with some things from home."

Rose pondered that a moment. "Good idea," she decided. "I suppose Liam could bring a few things during his next visit."

"Is he your boyfriend?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He works for _The Daily Prophet_."

Draco listened, gathering that Liam, the elusive boyfriend, was an older lad and that he had access to the Weasley household, _or _was close enough with whomever was house-sitting to pop in and collect some of Rose's things.

"How did you meet?" the Healer asked, making conversation.

Rose, who had instinctually continued reading, glanced up from her book and fixed her eyes on the stuffed animal. "We met last term, about a month before he graduated from Hogwarts. I — er — I fancied him for ages," she added, laughing a little. "What about you? Wife? Girlfriend?"

Draco scribbled a few notes on his clipboard, before flicking one look at his patient. It took him a moment to realize what she'd asked.

"You don't have to answer that," she quickly inserted.

"I don't mind," he shrugged, scribbling down some more notes. For some reason, he was feeling particularly thorough that morning. "I've an ex-wife, and the closest thing to a date I've been on for the past year was yesterday, in a meeting with my solicitor. We ordered Chinese takeaway."

Rose opened her mouth to laugh, but ended up drooling. "_Merlin_…I would commit horrible, unforgivable crimes for some spring rolls and almond chicken right about now."

Draco took a second to smile, finally convinced that this was the legendary Weasel King's daughter. "Hospital food not doing it for you?"

She scrunched her lips. "Not quite, no."

He thought for a moment, looking to her. "I've an idea."

"An idea?" Rose repeated, straightening. "Like, sneaking me out of here for a night of almond chicken goodness?"

Draco snorted with laughter, holding the clipboard under his arm. "As the man responsible for your health, no. I was thinking more along the lines of sneaking the almond chicken goodness to you. Only, there wouldn't really be any sneaking involved, seeing as I'm your Healer."

"You'd do that?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't see why not."

Rose smiled, trying hard to hide her excitement — failing miserably. "Hold on," she then remarked. "There's a catch, isn't there?"

Draco stood near the foot of the bed, absently running a hand through his hair. "What? Oh, right." He wheeled a look around, taking note of the book in her hands. It was one of Vladimir Nabokov's novels; one of few Muggle titles with which he was familiar. Strange piece for her to be reading, but he didn't question her taste. "How about a book report?" he suggested. "If you are your mother's daughter, you shouldn't find that too difficult."

Her eyes widened a little "But —" She sat up, sharply. "That only gives me, like, a day."

"Three days," he corrected. "I won't be here until after the weekend."

"Solicitor meetings?"

"Medical conference."

"That sounds fun," she teased. "Where is this conference?"

Draco moved to the window, adjusting the blinds. "Zurich," he said to her, as though it were nothing, which, for him, it was. He'd been to Switzerland many times. "Anyway, I should get going."

"Right," the young witch nodded. "Other patients and that."

He looked to her then, taking note of the slight fall in her expression. It had been a long time since he'd inspired that look on anyone; let alone a young patient. "I'll see you Monday. Bright and early."

"Monday," she repeated, turning her lips into a smile. "I look forward to our almond chicken date."

Draco moved to the door, pausing a moment, as if to say something, and then walking away.

**A/N: What do we think so far? Anyone here familiar with the book? Haha. **


	5. Day Five & Six

**A/N: Chapter Five! **

**_10:28PM _**

"Pardon me," someone voiced from the door. "I've a delivery for Miss Rose Weasley."

Having spent most of the day either asleep or working on that book report, it surprised Rose to hear a familiar voice. She tossed one look at the door, and found a tall, sandy brown-haired young man, dressed in casual clothes of jeans and a t-shirt, with a bouquet of carnations in one hand and a box of expensive chocolates in the other.

For a moment, her expression wavered between surprise and excitement to uncertainty, landing on the latter.

"Liam," she started, setting her quill down and placing her things on one of the side tables. "I — I had no idea you were visiting tonight."

Visibly taken aback by her less than enthusiastic reaction, Liam rocked back on his heels. "Should I not have come?"

"No, no…" Rose assured him. "It's nothing like that. I just — I don't know. After what happened last time…"

Liam focused on her, knowingly. "I thought we were over that."

"How?" she put forth. "We've neither seen nor talked to each other since."

"Fair enough," he said to her, walking slowly into the room and resting at the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry for being an arse. Had I known you were still upset about it, I would have apologized as soon as possible. You know that, don't you?"

Rose glanced down, fidgeting with the bedcovers.

"Babe…"

"Don't," she said to him, leaning back as he reached over. "I'm a disgusting swamp creature. If you touch me, you'll catch whatever I have."

Liam tilted his head to the side, pouting a little. "You're not, and I won't. It doesn't work like that. I've been immunized, remember?"

"Yeah…"

"Just one hug. That's all I want."

Rose exhaled, closing her eyes.

She felt his approach. There were nurses and Healers bustling through the corridors — just outside. Any number of people could have walked in and caught them like this, with Liam on the bed and with his hands on her face and neck. His touch, although warm, did nothing to soothe the tension in her gut.

Something between them had changed, and she felt it from the moment he stepped through that door — but nothing could have prepared her for the freight train of detachment that came barreling her way, the second his lips made contact with hers.

Liam kissed her as he always did, with his hands in her hair and his chest pressed up against hers. It felt nice. It wasn't a bad kiss, by any stretch of the imagination, and she was sure there were at least a dozen or so witches within their social circle who would have done unimaginable things for the chance to get off with him — but she felt none of that.

"You okay?" he murmured, moving a mile a minute.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just a little chilly."

Again, his lips found hers, and he lowered her to the bed. "I can help with that," Liam whispered, between kisses. "Close your eyes."

"If we're seen…"

"We won't be seen," he assured her. "Trust me."

Rose exhaled, rather deeply. "The moment Hilda catches you on top of me, she'll revoke your visitor status and move me to solitary confinement," the young witch explained, staring up at her boyfriend, as he kicked his shoes off and suspended himself above her. "You know she will."

Liam smiled. "There's no solitary confinement in hospitals. Plus, Hilda and most other nurses are busy with another patient — an elderly witch on the other side of the ward."

Her eyes widened a moment. "Wait — you're not talking about Judith, are you? She was supposed to be discharged this morning. I — I hope nothing happened…"

"Does it matter?" he asked, kissing her neck.

Rose hovered like that for another couple seconds; the amount of time it took, for her to realize what he'd said. "Of course, it matters!"

Startled, Liam pulled back. "_I'm sorry_," he inserted, repositioning himself as she swatted him away. "I just — I miss you, Rose."

"You don't miss me," she corrected, tossing him an even look. "You miss having sex with me. There's a difference."

Liam gaped at her. "_What?_ This has nothing to do with sex."

"Really?" she scoffed, folding her arms. "You've been here for a total of one minute, maybe two, and you've already tried getting off with me."

The young wizard stared between her eyes, as though he couldn't believe the words coming from her mouth. "If that's how you feel, you should have said something sooner. I love you, Rose. The last thing I want, is for you to feel like your boundaries don't matter."

She tuned it out, closing her eyes.

"I won't touch you," Liam furthered. "I just want to see you, that's all."

Rose steadied her breath, feeling heat dissipate from the surface of her skin. It had been ages since she'd stood up for herself like that.

"I'm sorry," he said again, sounding rather genuine.

She exhaled, opening her eyes. "It's okay."

"Is it actually?"

Rose looked to him, noting the sincerity in his gaze. If she had to be honest, there was some level of yearning in her bones. Though she wasn't nearly as experienced as Liam, or their friends, she had, in fact, been sexually active with him prior to St. Mungo's. About three weeks prior, if memory served right.

He'd always been a gentleman with her.

So, the thought occurred to her, that perhaps _she _was the problem.

Maybe she just didn't love him anymore.

"Do you want me to leave?" Liam asked, looking at her with those big blue eyes. "If —"

"No," Rose interjected, forcing the tension from her muscles. "I don't want that."

"What _do _you want?" he asked.

* * *

><p><strong><em>12:04AM<em>**

Draco raced through the crowds, having received a memo at dinner. It was from Hilda, and although she usually left him to his own devices, whilst he was at conferences and such, something serious had happened; something that prompted him to return to London as soon as possible.

It wasn't _entirely _necessary, seeing as Healer Jenkins was in London and was more than capable of covering for Draco, whilst he was in Zurich, but he felt it was his duty to be there for his patients when they needed him. As a Healer, there was a certain amount of trust between him and his patients; trust that he would hate to tarnish for the sake of a meeting with a bunch of big wigs from across Europe.

Without thinking twice about it, and without gathering his things from the hotel room, he launched himself into the fireplace and released a handful of Floo Powder.

"St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!" he quickly said, ignoring the passing glances in the conference hall lobby.

In an instant, he disappeared in greenish flames and felt that familiar tug. It wasn't his favourite form of transportation, but there was no choice. Seconds later, after his stomach, head and surroundings stopped turning, he found himself on the first floor of the hospital, where several nurses and Healers were bustling through the corridors.

Draco spared no time.

He sped to the room in question.

Hilda, along with Jenkins and a couple other nurses, were inside. The head nurse turned to him, the moment he entered the room. For some reason, no one gave him any sort of status report. It was only when he stepped forth, pushing past Jenkins and the nurses, that he realized.

"No," Draco voiced, breathing deeply. "No, this — this can't be."

"Time of death was midnight," Jenkins inserted, keeping his distance.

Hilda placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, as he looked to the lifeless body of the elderly woman; the same one he had treated earlier that morning, before he left for Zurich. "We did everything we could," she said to him.

Draco closed his eyes.

Never, not once in his career, had he lost a patient. It was unusual to lose a patient to something like Vanishing Sickness, but the sickness coupled with Judith Humphrey's old age proved too much for the witch. Even so, it hurt him to know he hadn't been there with her. She trusted him. She was his patient. She was his responsibility.

Feeling lightheaded, he backed up, away from the bed, and watched as one of the nurses dragged a plain white sheet over Judith's body.

Just like that, he had one less patient.

* * *

><p><strong><em>2:35AM<em>**

Rose stared blankly through the window. It was dark outside, and although the street lamps had been extinguished, she could still see using the moon's glow. The streets were empty that night, glistening from the earlier rainfall. She yearned to be out there, with the rest of the world — back in Hogwarts. She missed her friends. She missed her cousins.

But most of all, she missed her parents.

"You should be asleep," someone said to her, near the door.

She fixed her attention to the other side of the room, and was surprised to find an exhausted, borderline ghostly Draco Malfoy standing there. Unlike his usual attire of the mandatory Healer robes, he was dressed in a tailored suit, black and white, with the shirt untucked and a loosened necktie. She gathered, from those subtle details, that he, too, was feeling particularly lousy.

"You should be in Zurich," the redhead countered.

Draco bowed his head down a moment, and made his way to the window, where he leaned against the sill. "Sorry for dropping in like this. Just —"

"I heard what happened," Rose broke through. " — to Judith."

According to Esther, the elderly woman had passed that same night, whilst Draco was away on business. It was a difficult situation, and although Rose had only spoken to Judith a couple times, she couldn't shake the emptiness.

Whether he was doing it to keep busy, or to make sure another life wasn't taken away under his watch, the Healer moved to Rose's IV and checked that her medication was in order. His hands were a little shaky, she noticed, but she didn't say anything.

"You wrote the book report…" he voiced, moments later.

Rose followed his line of vision, and found the assignment she had been working on earlier that day. "I started to," she shrugged. " — but —"

"But?" Draco repeated, looking to her.

She looked away. "Er — Liam came to visit, and…and we broke up," Rose explained, feeling ridiculous. "…and I know it's nothing compared to what you must be going through. In fact, I should never have said anything. Just —"

"How are you feeling?" he interjected, in a way that was…different.

Rose looked to him, ignoring the heat wave. "I'll be okay," she managed to say. "How are _you _feeling?"

Draco fixed his eyes to the tiled floor, and then to her. "To be frank, I could really go for some Chinese right about now."

She would have smiled, were it possible in her current state.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

Rose opened her mouth, and then shrugged; bereft of the strength it took to lie. Deep down, she knew he asked because he cared, but also because he needed a distraction. For reasons she couldn't quite understand, she was more than willing to provide that distraction; even if it meant having to explain the details of her breakup to her scalding hot Healer.

"Relationships are hard," she sighed. "Like, unreasonably hard."

Draco smiled. "I'd like to tell you it gets easier, but I _am _divorced, so…"

She snorted. "True."

His shoulders shook with a brush of laughter, and he took a casual look at the unfinished book report, using his free hand to comb the tousled blonde hair from his forehead. Rose wondered, in the back of her mind, if he knew she was checking him out. It had to have been a little bit obvious, given the stupidly dazed look that crossed her face, when he entered the room.

"You know…" he started to say, causing her eyes to dart from his long neck to his lips. "This isn't half bad."

For a moment, she had no idea what he was talking about. "Oh — the book report. Erm, thanks."

"You're a fantastic writer," Draco said, setting the parchment down and looking at her, as though she were a different species. "Better than your mother, I'd venture to say."

Her eyes widened a little. "You think so?"

He nodded, repeatedly. "I asked for a simple book report, and you gave me a dissertation."

Rose cracked a smile, shrugging. "I have a lot of time on my hands…"

"I've some connections in the literary world," Draco offered, looking to her. "If you're interested in finishing this, I'd be more than willing to put those connections to use."

She froze. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely," he confirmed. "Interested?"

"Er — yeah, yeah, of course I'm interested."

"Brilliant," Draco beamed. "Though, I am curious about one thing."

Rose took the parchment, as he handed it back to her. "Oh, I know. The first bit is a little choppy, but I'll sort it as soon as —" She glanced up, noticing the look on his face, and how, again, it was _different_. "Er —"

"Interesting choice," he said, nodding to the book in question. "What made you decide on that one, in particular?"

Her eyes drifted to the novel. It was the same Vladimir Nabokov piece she had been reading the previous day, and although the contents were highly controversial (involving a grown man's infatuation with a much younger girl) she couldn't help but feel drawn to it. She was a sucker for scandal, and more than that, the psychology behind forbidden relationships — such as the one between Humbert Humbert and Dolores Haze.

"I guess I'm tired of the usual," she explained, thinking. "There are only so many variations of Mr. Darcy a girl can handle…"

Draco couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a strange one, you know that?"

"Thank you," she smiled. "Strange is better than boring."

"Agreed."

Seconds later, before she could respond, a couple of voices echoed from the corridors. Nurses, perhaps. It didn't matter, seeing as her surprisingly cool Healer snapped back to his usual demeanour, as though he'd momentarily forgotten she was his patient, and not a friend.

Draco looked to the door, and then to her. "I should probably…"

Rose nodded, reluctant as usual. "Yeah…"

**A/N: lmao awkward draco is awkward. **


	6. Day Six & Seven

**A/N: Chapter Six! **

**_8:09AM_**

Rose sat near the window, making finishing touches on her book report-turned-dissertation. It was a quiet morning in St. Mungo's Hospital. Most staff and patients she knew, were grieving the loss of Judith. She, too, found cause to grieve, in her own way. Never once in her life, had she lost someone without seeing it coming. Around the age of eleven, she'd lost her maternal grandfather to old age, and although his passing took a heavy toll on both her and her mother, it wasn't a surprise. Rowan Granger's health had been deteriorating for years, whereas Judith was to be discharged.

It was a cruel and undeserved fate, and Rose was angry at the world.

She cursed, as her favourite quill snapped under the pressure of her hold. "Damn it —"

"Bad time?"

Rose turned, recognizing the voice before she laid eyes on the source. "Oh my —" She gaped, rising from the chair and racing to the door, wincing a bit as her quick movements snagged the IV. "Albus!"

Without meaning to, she knocked her cousin back a couple steps. Although a couple months older than she, he stood at the same height of five feet and five inches, and was commonly confused for someone a little younger. On top of that, he was the spitting image of his father — Harry Potter. Though, his personality seemed to draw more from his namesake, the late Albus Dumbledore, given his whimsical nature (and his preference for dick).

"Sorry," she quickly said, pulling back and laughing with him. "I'd no idea you were coming today."

"Yeah," he furthered, sitting with her at the foot of the bed. "The others are in Hogsmeade, but I couldn't fathom the idea of having butterbeer without you, knowing you're trapped in this hell hole."

Rose shrugged a little. "It's not so bad in here."

Albus tossed her a look of surprise. "You told me you were miserable."

"I was," she confirmed. "But — erm, things have changed."

"Oh?"

"There are some nice people here," Rose carried on, looking to the window, and then to the bedcovers, pretending to be fascinated by the stitching.

Albus narrowed his eyes, knowingly. "You fancy someone."

She gaped at him. "What — no."

"Oh, come on…" he reasoned, casually. "I've known you long enough to recognize that starry-eyed look when I see it. What's his name? Better yet, is he a patient here? Is that why you broke up with Liam? Oh!" He turned his body to her, clapping his hands together. "Don't tell me. You've already snogged him, and you tried your best not to fall in love, considering you're both significantly ill, but you can't help your heart; nor can you help the fact that he's…let me think…the living incarnation of Adonis?"

Rose glared at her cousin, lazily. "It's a good thing you're cute."

"Shut up," he laughed. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"About my supposed love affair? Not even a little bit."

Albus folded his arms. "You're a terrible actor."

"And you've been reading too much Nicholas Sparks."

"Please," he snorted. "I wouldn't wipe my arse with that garbage. Even so, you're hiding something — _someone_, I should say."

Rose looked to her cousin, feeling the slow grin tug at her lips. It was near impossible to keep anything from Albus. He was a deductive thinker, and it didn't help that he knew her like the back of his hand.

* * *

><p><strong><em>12:15PM<em>**

Draco entered his office, waiting until the door closed behind him, blocking the sounds from outside, before sliding down to the floor. Most times, he knew how to keep it professional and separate his emotions from his work life, but the divorce coupled with Judith's death was beginning to tear at his defences.

His shift wasn't over until midnight, another twelve hours, and although he had plenty of work to keep him busy, he couldn't focus on anything apart from the thump in his chest. It felt as though the universe was reminding him he was still alive, and had an entire ward of patients who needed him at his best. Perhaps Hilda was right. Perhaps he needed some time to regroup; a day, at the most.

But he couldn't afford to take time to himself.

There was still a tiny voice in his mind, that told him he could have saved Judith, had he been in the hospital at the time of her passing.

Upon the recommendation of the healthcare administrator at St. Mungo's, he'd visited with someone earlier that day, in the morning, to counsel him through what happened. Draco felt he didn't need to talk to anyone — let alone a professional — but it was customary.

_The first loss will always be the hardest_, other Healers told him.

But it wasn't loss.

It was **death**.

It was a life that ended, under his care.

Draco closed his eyes, rubbing the fatigue from them, sparing two or three minutes to collect what little composure he could, before leaving his office.

* * *

><p><strong><em>11:25PM<em>**

Rose blinked hard, staring at the ceiling.

It was one of those nights.

She couldn't sleep.

Her confession to Albus, regarding everything that happened over the past week, was playing and replaying in her mind. On repeat. As she expected, he wasn't the least bit surprised about her and Liam choosing to part ways. It was a long time coming, in Albus' opinion. Liam wasn't a bad boyfriend, by any stretch of the imagination, but Rose had changed since the start of their relationship. It wasn't something that materialized from thin air, the moment she was admitted to the hospital.

She felt for a long time, that Liam was on a different page.

Plus, being in a relationship didn't exactly fit in with her plans to travel the world. Particularly since Liam didn't enjoy traveling.

Rose forced her eyes closed, thinking of the other reason…

It was stupid.

She fancied Draco. Not only because he was attractive and intelligent. Also, because he talked to her like a normal human being — like an equal. Their talks, although brief, were her favourite part of being in St. Mungo's. It was the only aspect of having dragon pox, that she liked. He was nice to her. He made her feel confident on an emotional level. If only she could find a man like that — her own age.

A man like him.

A man who wasn't eighteen years her senior.

A man who hadn't attended Hogwarts with her parents.

A man who still looked, thought and acted like him, but _not_ him.

"I'm such a teenager…" she grumbled, tossing over and slamming her face against one of the pillows.

It was bad; like really, really bad.

To the point that her temperature had once again risen, and that dizzying, borderline nauseating sensation was back in full swing. Rose had never in her life reacted to something with such intensity, that it affected her on a physical level — but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

As Hilda instructed, she sat up ninety degrees and took full breaths, filling her lungs with air and then releasing. Slowly, and deeply. Inside, all she felt was that gnawing, twisting unrest. Outside, her skin was hot like a furnace. It felt like it did, before she realized she had dragon pox. Hogwarts. Middle of the Great Hall. Collapsing in front of the entire school. Sweat. Tears. Her friends and professors circling around her. Frightened. People everywhere. Voices. Shouting. Her name. _Rose…Rose…Rose…_

But it wasn't her imagination.

It was real.

There were no students or professors. There were nurses and mediwizards, and Healer Jenkins. Everyone rushing into the room, having heard the alert that sounded, when a patient was in distress.

"No…" she breathed, skin hot and agitated, and her head spinning in tight circles. "Not you…"

Healer Jenkins ignored her and went straight to work. The last thing she saw was Nurse Hilda, with knowingness in her eyes, and then…darkness.

* * *

><p><strong><em>4:27AM<em>**

Morning light broke through the clouds, cutting the darkness like a knife.

Hours.

Draco had been in that room for hours, with nurses coming and going, and the Auror Department working to extract Rose's parents from their covert mission. Somewhere along the line, her sickness had gotten worse. He'd been at home, when Hilda sent an owl his way, informing him that Rose was in critical condition. He couldn't believe it. The last time he'd seen Rose, she looked healthier and had gained most of her strength back. There was nothing, not a single indication that she would fall terribly ill — again.

But it wasn't for lack of treatment. Her medication was in order. Everything from the hospital's end was in order. It was something else that caused the imbalance.

Draco's eyes drifted to the side table, where the box of chocolates had been hidden beneath Rose's various books and quills.

It seemed Liam, the ex-boyfriend, brought her Elvish chocolates during his last visit, unaware of the fact that one of the ingredients would counteract her medication. Rose ate one piece, just one little piece, and paid the price. Of course, it was Nurse Esther's responsibility to make sure the gifts Rose's visitors left behind were safe to consume.

Again, Esther didn't do her job, and although it left him with a heavy heart, Draco had no choice but to tell the young nurse to clear her things from the hospital and find another place to work.

Part of him felt it was his fault, again, for not watching closer and asking Rose if Liam brought anything with him, and if so, what. Had he done that, Rose's illness would never have taken a turn for the worse. It seemed his instincts were off kilter, as of recent. First with Judith, and then with Rose.

But he couldn't lose her.

Not only because it was his job to make sure she recovered to full health, but also…because _he couldn't lose her_.

Draco relaxed the moment she reached stable condition, replenishing the medication attached to her IV and watching over her, as she slept in peace. It was a long night, and although Hilda urged him to go home and rest, he couldn't fathom the idea of leaving that room.

Room 243.

"Healer Malfoy?" one of the nurses asked, standing near the door. "I'm off duty, but Lewis will take over. If you need anything, he'll be right outside."

Draco nodded once, barely, unable to tear his eyes from the medication. He waited until the nurse's footsteps shifted to a faint echo, before exhaling. It was dark in the hospital, as most patients were sound asleep and most staff were at home, catching a few hours of rest before returning to work bright and early. There were a couple nighttime nurses, here and there, such as Lewis, but other than them, the hospital was silent and still.

Hilda and Jenkins had gone home around ten minutes prior, leaving him to remain in that room, where he shifted his attention from the medication, to the young woman atop the bed. She was stable and sleeping, and although her temperature had gone down within the last couple hours, her skin was still feverish.

Draco placed the back of his hand on her forehead, feeling wave after wave of heat. Normal for dragon pox, but worrisome nonetheless.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he found himself saying. "I'm sorry your parents aren't here. If I could, I would trade places with them in an instant. I don't have any children of my own, but I do know what it's like to have a person I care about, in critical condition. It…It was a long time ago, before you were born. I'm sure you've heard stories about the man I was back then. It brings me no pride to admit that I've made horrible mistakes, and as much as I would love to forget my past and move on with my future — I can't. It doesn't work that way…"

Something in his chest pounded hard, as Rose stirred a little. Draco froze, suspended in that moment for several seconds, before she returned to her heavy sleep. She hadn't heard him — not that he wanted her to. Sure, their conversations were intriguing, and she was surprisingly easy to talk to, but he couldn't unload on a patient like that.

Not a conscious patient, anyway.

"I'll do everything I can to make sure you're out of here as soon as possible. If that means holding off on the almond chicken — so be it," he continued to say, feeling a hint of a smile cross his lips. "I'll make good on my end of that deal when you're better, okay?" There was no verbal response from the girl's end, but the sound of her calm, steady breathing was enough for him. "You're going to be fine. I'll make sure of it. Just — be safe when you're out there, traveling the world. You're a strong, smart, capable witch, but the world has a way of throwing curveballs. I can protect you here, in St. Mungo's — but I can't protect you out there," he told her, eyes drifting to the window, and then back.

In that moment, he looked at her — really, truly _looked_ at her — and felt a quickness in his chest. Quick and slow and heavy and light; all, at the same time. He blinked, holding his eyes shut and forcing that feeling into the depths of his subconscious, where he wouldn't think to look.

Draco stepped back, on instinct, and turned to the door with one thought to outweigh all others.

_It's not my place to protect you out there._

**A/N: Uh oh... haha **


	7. Day Seven

**A/N: Chapter Seven! **

**_11:18PM _**

Between the voices, the fever and the throbbing sensation in her chest — it was clear to Rose, that whatever happened to her wasn't simply the result of stress. She arose the next night, nearly twenty-four hours after the fever swept over her with such impenetrable force. Her room was dimly lit, and the blinds were closed, bathing her surroundings in shadows. Had it not been for her weakened state, she would have occupied her thoughts with a book or an assignment for school, but the effort it took to keep her eyes open rendered her completely and utterly still.

There was strain along her arms and legs, and through further inspection, she noticed the greenish tinge was back. It appeared the nurses and Healers chose not to remedy her discolouration, and instead focused their efforts to the more serious issue of making sure she survived the night.

She learned many years ago, in her first year as a student at Hogwarts, that it was possible to die from dragon pox.

Despite the fact that she had to undergo an alternative treatment to combat the illness, the nurses assured her she would be fine. She had no choice but to trust them and have faith in their abilities — but fear of being consumed by that darkness for the third and final time was too difficult to brave.

Rose tilted her head down, suppressing the moisture that pooled along her eyes. Surely, as Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley's daughter, she should have inherited some of their natural-born courage. It was in her blood to be brave and to endure. But in that moment, all she could do was lay her head on that pillow, and cry.

Softly and silently, tears cascaded from her eyes, down her cheeks, and into the covering; punctuated by the wave of uncertainty that took over, when a set of footsteps entered her room.

Rose hurriedly wiped the tears from her eyes, yanking the bedcovers high up, over her shoulders, holding onto the feeble hope that whomever had entered would be fool enough to think she was asleep.

But that didn't happen.

Before she could say or do anything, she was turned and lifted into upright position, where her body fell limply against his. For a moment, he simply held her like that, taken aback by their sudden closeness. Though, as much as she would have liked for him to preserve that moment for as long as he would allow, it was over as fast as it began.

She hid her face from him, as he pulled away.

There was no doubt in her mind, that her eyes, cheeks and nosy were puffy and glistening with tears. She wasn't much of a crier in her normal life, but when she did cry — _it was ugly._

Rose turned away, embarrassed.

"Don't look at me," she whispered, with strain in her voice. "Please. I — I'm a mess right —"

Her words cut short. Startled, she opened her eyes and sat there in silence, as he used the back of his hand to collect the tears from her face. One-by-one, he allowed those drops of frustration to transfer from her skin, to his. It was a simple action. Barely anything. But the weight of it was evident.

"I — "

" — have been through a lot," he interjected, fluidly, and with conviction.

Rose stared deep into those slate grey eyes of his, overwhelmed. Something about those eyes rendered her wordless. It took a moment for her to realize that he'd even spoken, but nothing changed. She simply looked at him, as if waiting for him to say something, to dissolve the undercurrents with his quick, but infallible stoicism.

But he didn't.

Both literally and figuratively, he tilted her head up, leaving them face-to-face. "I meant what I said the other night," Draco told her, speaking softly, in a tone that was foreign to her ears. "It's okay to be scared. There's no shame in fear."

She exhaled, having held her breath until the last second. "How…"

"How?" he repeated.

"I don't believe any of it," she furthered, looking upon him and speaking truths that even she didn't understand. "All those things written about you in the papers. It's — It's all lies, isn't it? You're not like that. You're kind."

Draco held the silence a moment longer than expected. "What you've read and heard about me is true," he confessed. "I've made some hefty mistakes, but I'm not that person anymore."

"I'm starting to think you were never that person."

He looked to her; deeper, this time. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding on arm between them, the sleeve of which was rolled up enough to reveal what was hidden underneath.

Rose followed his line of vision, and felt her pulse quicken. She nodded her head, once. "That's the Dark Mark," she recited, as though the image was permanently ingrained to the back of her skull. Not too far-fetched, seeing as her older relatives were forerunners in the war. "Tom Riddle gave that to you."

It shocked him, on a visible level, when the name left her lips, casually and without much thought behind it. In his time, only Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had been brave enough to utter the Dark Lord's given name. But times had changed, and there was a new generation to consider — one that read about the war in history books, as opposed to living through it, as he and his former classmates had been forced to do.

"It's _called_ the Dark Mark, yes, but the meaning behind it is far worse than words could ever describe," he explained, sweeping her up with one look. "What this mark means, is that I accepted the leadership of a madman, and committed heinous, horrific acts under his command; acts so unforgivable, they haunt me to this very day."

Rose blinked; struggling to make sense of the words that were coming out of his mouth; glancing from him, to the mark, and back again.

Draco watched the emotions tug at her lips and cheeks and eyes. He didn't seem bothered. Expectant, maybe. Perhaps even resolute. But not bothered.

"In taking the mark, I accepted Lord Voldemort's leadership," he furthered. " — and as much as I would love to tell you otherwise, taking the mark is the most permanent mistake I have made, but it is not the worst."

"What —" She stared at him, perplexed. "What do you mean? What could possibly be worse than — than — "

Draco opened his mouth, but Rose cut him off.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I know what this is. I know what you're doing. You want me to hate you. You want me to see what other people see when they look at you."

His eyes steeled. He was getting frustrated, she could tell, but he was doing a good job of hiding it.

"I don't need you to hate me," he spoke, evenly. "I need you to _listen_ to me, because I know better."

Rose huffed, forcefully. "Have you learned nothing? I'm difficult, and I'd rather catch another violent fever than listen to someone _who_ _knows better._" She folded her arms, tossing him a knowing look. "The only reason you're even claiming to know better, is because you know it gets under my skin, and for some inane reason, you want me to think of you as — as some sort of _monster_." Her conviction was solid. "Well, I'll let you in on a little secret. I don't think you're a monster. You want to know what I think? I — I think, underneath all that hard-wired stoicism and misanthropic bullshit, there's a funny, charming, good fucking person, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

He did nothing but look at her, caught in the aftermath of her outburst. If there were ever a moment to swallow ones words and retreat to the deepest, darkest hole on the face of the earth, it was then, but there was no escape from the words that left her lips. Rose swallowed, rather hard, and leaned back a couple inches, realizing she had unconsciously moved towards him with each second of her explosive confession.

"You're right," he finally said, catching her attention. "I don't know better. The truth of the matter is that I've learned very little over the years, but one of the few things I do know is the distinction between right and wrong, and exactly where I fall on that scale."

It appeared their conversation had taken an abrupt shift. His past was no longer the issue. The real issue, it seemed, would remain unspoken.

She understood his disposition.

She understood his nature, and furthermore, the nature of the situation. If lines were to be drawn or erased, it would have to be her doing. Though it went against everything he'd been saying and desperately trying to convey, her decision was made. She could tell by way he was looking at her, with hardened determination and yet, crippling defeat, that words weren't required.

It was no matter to her, because she didn't plan on talking anyway.

Draco tensed, opening his mouth to say something. By his choosing or not, nothing came out. He was left sitting there, hanging on the edge of reason.

"Don't speak," Rose murmured to him. "Just, let me do this."

In the back of her mind, there were voices — shouting at her, trying hard to rationalize a reason _not to_. But none of those reasons mattered to her, as the only thing she could focus on was the look in Draco's eyes before he closed them, submitting to her, hovering somewhere between what was right and what was wrong, as she leaned forward.

Just like that, their lips touched.

* * *

><p><strong><em>11:35PM<em>**

Rose kissed him.

Softly, but without restraint, she kissed him. Over and over again, pressing her lips to his in every which way. Seconds turned into minutes, and she eventually placed her hands around his neck, drawing him closer — still, with no reciprocation from his end, but all the reciprocation in the world considering he hadn't turned away.

Draco sat there, on that bed, as still as he could.

With immense effort, he kept from moving his lips, from responding to her. It was wrong, he knew that. Everything about it was wrong. If anyone had walked into that room and caught them like this, with young Rose kissing him however delicately, he would have been shipped straight to Azkaban. No questions asked.

It didn't help that her parents were Aurors.

It didn't help that they were old rivals of his.

It didn't help that Rose tasted exactly how he'd imagined.

It didn't help that he'd imagined her at all.

Smooth and persuasive, the kiss continued.

Draco shivered against her. His heart was beating fast, and he had a feeling hers was, too. She kissed him deeper with each second, taking moments here and there to breathe, decorating the negative space between their lips with harrowing affection.

It was clear to him, then, that he was right, and that his worst mistake, however right it felt, was falling in love with the girl in Room 243.

Moments after that, as if on cue, footsteps echoed from the corridor, closer and closer to Room 243, until Draco's senses kicked in, and he pulled back from the kiss. With cheeks as warm as her hair colour, Rose looked at him, pleading with her eyes to let the moment carry on a second longer, but he couldn't allow it. Soon, she heard the footsteps and followed his lead.

Draco straightened, rising to his feet and moving to inspect the medication. Similarly, his patient turned to her side and flipped open one of her books, as Hilda entered the room.

"Miss Weasley —" the Head Nurse started, tossing an unexpected look at Draco. "Oh," she voiced, startled to see him. "I had no idea you were still here, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked at his wristwatch, feigning surprise. "Well, bloody hell_._ Looks like I lost track of time, again."

Hilda nodded, sparing one look at him, before moving from the door to the bed. "In any case," she furthered, shifting her attention to their patient. "I have good news for you, Miss Weasley."

Rose turned, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. "Is it food?"

"Better," the nurse smiled; a rare occurrence. "Your parents are here."

**A/N: Oh, man haha. Two questions. 1) What are your thoughts on this chapter? 2) What are you predictions for the next one?**


	8. Day Eight

**A/N: Chapter Eight! **

**_12:00AM_**

Draco entered his flat, tossing his coat on the sofa and heading straight for the kitchen. It was dim and fairly empty inside, as he was rarely home and found no reason to clutter his living space with useless decoration. Plus, he didn't plan on staying there for long. His actual home was occupied by his ex-wife, Astoria Greengrass. Though his family and friends advised him to politely ask her to leave and find her own home, as ownership was his, he had neither the heart nor the patience to remove her. Astoria was a wildly temperamental person, but she had also been his _wife_. As in, the woman he married, with whom he thought he would spend eternity. Something about kicking her out of their house seemed…cold and uncharacteristic, even for him.

In any case, she didn't feel the same.

Astoria claimed ownership and sought to keep the house to herself. Draco couldn't say he hadn't see it coming, but he was willing to co-operate with her, as long as her terms were within reason. The last thing he wanted was another year of solicitor meetings and never-ending arguments. Though he wasn't in love with her anymore, he still cared for the witch.

That in mind, his thoughts drifted to another, much younger witch.

Draco released the breath he'd held, and ran a hand through his hair. It was no secret to him, that what happened was his fault. As both her senior and Healer, it was his responsibility to ensure no lines were crossed. If anyone were to blame — it was without a shadow of a doubt, him. Yes, Rose kissed him and ultimately, crossed that line willingly, but he accepted her kiss and would probably have kissed back, had the moment carried on.

It didn't matter that she was above the age of consent. It didn't matter that she was legally an adult. It didn't matter that she was cute and clever and charismatic (and the more he thought about, beautiful). It mattered even less that she reciprocated his feelings.

What mattered, was that he betrayed her.

In crossing that line, he took advantage of his position as Rose Weasley's Healer, and unwittingly made it so she would have intimacy issues later in life. To his knowledge, that was what generally happened in the wake of illicit encounters. Trouble. Trouble. More trouble.

_He_ was responsible.

_He_ should have known better.

She was a teenaged girl with a crush, and he ruined her.

Point blank.

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:09AM<em>**

Rose groaned with frustration. "You're doing it _wrong_."

"Wrong?" Hermione repeated, as though she'd never been accused of such a thing. "Nonsense. Hold still."

Dismissive of the accusation, the older woman continued applying topical cream to her daughter's bare back. It had been several hours since she and her husband, Ronald Weasley, had returned to London. Despite Rose's constant reassurance that everything was in order, and that they should go home and rest, it seemed her mother and father were adamant in staying longer at the hospital and being there for her.

"Your brother should be here tonight," Hermione explained, sensing Rose's thoughts, as she usually did. "He's made the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team, you know? Keeper. Just like —"

" — Dad," Rose finished, trying hard not to roll her eyes. "I know."

Hermione sighed, knowingly. "If you're upset over the fact that he hasn't yet come to see you, please remember — "

" — that he's been afraid of hospitals since Grandfather Rowan passed, and would be here everyday if he could," she interjected, again. "I know that, and I don't blame him in the slightest."

"So?"

"So, let's stop talking about this."

Hermione opened her mouth a moment, as though hoping to continue the discussion, but their conversation cut short, as someone entered the room.

Rose looked to the door, and found someone whom she presumed to be her father, with a mountain of her belongings in his arms and over his head. As per Hermione's suggestion, Ron had left the hospital to gather some of his daughter's things, so she could decorate her room and give it less of a stark white, depressing hospital feel.

"Oh, for heaven's sake —" Hermione voiced, using her wand to lift some of the items from her husband's weakening hold. "Set them down on the desk before you pull a muscle."

Grumbling a little, the wizard followed his wife's instructions and carefully placed each individual item on the desk adjacent to the bed, before having a seat on one of the chairs.

He breathed heavily, exhausted. "If I forgot anything…let me know, and I'll …make sure to…bring it later…"

Rose couldn't help but laugh a little. "Don't worry. You're off the hook."

Ron looked to her, starting with a smile and ending with a frown, as his stomach rumbled. He rubbed his belly. "I could have sworn I spotted a sweets shop downstairs. Any takers?"

"A _sweets_ shop?" Hermione repeated. "In a hospital?"

"Sure," he nodded. "Plenty of magical remedies are administered through sweets."

"Consuming chocolate to restore ones happiness in the face of a Dementor, hardly counts as a magical remedy."

"But it _does_ count, which is the only important bit."

Rose stared between her parents, scrunching her lips to the side. It was no secret to her, that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were opposites and married young (perhaps too young) and although she and her brother had witnessed countless arguments between their parents (sometimes serious, sometimes trivial, but always pointless) she had never felt cause to worry.

Perhaps something happened on their mission.

That, or perhaps enough was enough.

She made a mental note to ask later.

* * *

><p><strong><em>7:45PM<em>**

As it was the evening, there were a ton of visitors roaming the corridors, in search for their loved ones, carrying balloons, stuffed animals, and flowers. Draco nodded hello to them and continued on his journey, traveling to the correct ward and observing, through the corner of his eye, a boy to his left, standing in the middle of the corridor looking quite lost.

"Hello there," Draco said to him, casually approaching. "Are you visiting?"

Kind-eyed, with short, curly brown hair, freckles scattered over his face, and dressed in the Ravenclaw uniform of blue and bronze — the young wizard nodded, tentatively.

"I'm…here to see my sister," he explained, scratching the back of his head. "One of the nurses told me she would be on this floor, but…I think I'm lost. I forgot the room number."

Draco thought for a moment, knowing he had a mountain of work to do, but feeling as though he should help the young boy, for whatever reason. "Not to worry. I'll point you in the right direction."

"Oh — thank you," he voiced, visibly relieved. "I — er — I don't mean to inconvenience you, sir. One can only imagine how busy a Healer must be."

"It's no trouble," Draco assured him, speaking truthfully, whilst leading the young man to one of the reception desks and skimming through the book that catalogued each patient and his/her room number. "Name?"

"Hugo."

"Your sister's name is Hugo?" Draco asked, looking to him with a touch of amusement.

"_Er_ — " the young Ravenclaw blurted, embarrassed. "Sorry, sir. _Her_ name is Rose. _My _name is Hugo."

Doing his best not to laugh, the older one nearly choked on his breath the moment he heard the name that left Hugo's mouth. Draco tossed one, even look at him and then he saw it. The curly hair. The kind, clumsy, altogether courteous nature.

For a second, he didn't know what to say.

Hugo looked to him, waiting. "Sir?"

"Sorry," he quickly inserted, returning to professional mode. "Believe it or not, I'm your sister's physician."

"_Oh_, then you must be Healer Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

The young wizard held out his hand, greeting Draco with a firm shake. It came to no shock that Hugo was Ravenclaw. Though, it did surprise Draco that the Weasley clan finally had a non-Gryffindor in their midst. Together, the wizards left the reception desk and headed down the nearest corridor, with Draco leading the way.

Although he didn't plan on visiting Rose for another hour or so, he figured there was no harm in leading the way for her brother. Particularly since she hadn't seen him in seven days.

"I don't know if this is inappropriate of me to say, but I'm a _huge_ fan."

Draco looked to the boy, surprised. "You are?"

Hugo nodded. "Your paper on merpeople changed my life."

He couldn't help but laugh. "That's a first."

"I _firmly_ considered becoming a Healer after reading that closing line," he continued to say, evading passersby. "Sheer brilliance. It's hard to believe you were only a five years older than me, when you wrote it."

Draco turned the corner, surprised by the boy's sentiments. "Weighing job options at thirteen? Now I know you're Hermione Granger's son."

Hugo laughed. "Everyone says that."

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:40PM<em>**

Rose stared at the clock, feeling her heart sink a little, with each minute that ticked on by. She sighed, fixing her attention to the chessboard. Because her little brother was there and because she wanted some intel on their parents, she figured playing his most cherished game would work to her favour.

"Sorry I didn't visit sooner," Hugo said, for the twelfth time. "I just —"

"It's okay," she said to him, truthfully. "I've had plenty to keep me busy."

"Yeah, I heard Albus and Liam came to visit a couple times."

Something tugged at Rose's gut, at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. "Er — about that. I'm not with Liam anymore."

Hugo looked to her, a little surprised. "Oh. Are you…okay?"

"I'm fine," she nodded. "What about you? How's school? I heard you made the Quidditch team."

"Yeah…" he smiled, passively.

Rose beamed, chuffed for her brother. "I _can't wait_ to watch you play."

His smile brightened.

From there, they continued their game of chess, and after receiving several warnings from passing nurses, to lift the charm that made the chess pieces attack one another — the game was over. It appeared violence of any sort was not allowed within the walls of St. Mungo's. Hugo left a little later, but not before sharing with his sister that he, too, noticed their parents' change in behaviour. Also, that he had the pleasure of meeting a particular Healer earlier that same evening.

Rose wasn't sure how to respond, so she settled for a passive shrug. It took everything she had not to ask _when exactly _Hugo had run into him, and _how long _it would take for him to check up on her. Not to mention _why on earth _he hadn't yet done so.

Somewhere deep down, she wondered if what happened between her and Draco had somehow scared him off, and if he planned on handing her over to Jenkins for the duration of her stay. Even if that were the case, which she sincerely hoped wasn't true, he would surely have visited her one last time to explain the situation…?

Suddenly, she was worried.

He was avoiding her.

He was obviously avoiding her.

And it didn't help that her parents were back.

That in mind, something else occurred to her. Perhaps he wasn't avoiding her. Perhaps he was avoiding her parents. It made sense, given their former rivalry and the fact that he'd snogged their teenaged daughter. Well, it was more like he'd allowed their teenaged daughter to snog him — but still.

She could do nothing but look at the door, holding onto the hope that he didn't regret what happened between them. On an emotional level, at least. In actuality, she was certain he'd gone absolutely bonkers and formulated some sort of strategy to ensure nothing more would happen between them, but that was to be expected of him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>9:00PM<em>**

Draco stood near the door, hovering outside for about thirty seconds. There were a couple nurses looking at him, wondering what he was doing and why he was standing there like an idiot, but they didn't know the truth and he didn't plan on telling them. Or anyone, for that matter. Frankly, he wasn't entirely sure about the truth himself. For all he knew, he'd imagined everything, and would soon wake up, at home, in bed, with an empty vial of Sleeping Draught on his side table.

But the knot in his stomach wasn't the result of ingesting too much potion. It was, without a doubt, the fact that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were on the other side of that door, and would probably have his head the moment they learned _he _was their daughter's Healer and more importantly,

that their daughter had kissed him.

It didn't help that Jenkins and Hilda weren't there that day, and therefore couldn't carry out his duties for him.

Nope.

There was no choice in the matter.

Even if he wanted to turn back and lock himself in his office, he couldn't, as it was time to replenish her medication. More important than the kiss and the fact that his former classmates were in that room, was the fact that Rose relied on him to recover. Her health was paramount, and with that in mind his trepidations vanished; replaced with the same unyielding concern that kept him at her bedside the night she fell violently ill.

Draco opened the door and entered the room.

Inside, he was surprised to find the lights had been dimmed, and that Rose was fast asleep. Near her, on one of the chairs, was her father — looking a right mess — which led Draco to believe the man hadn't slept at all, since returning to London. On the other side of the bed, seated on the edge of the mattress and stroking the hair from her daughter's forehead, was a witch he wouldn't have immediately recognized, had it not been for her curly hair. She looked older than he expected. Much older, as though being an Auror had aged her prematurely.

Ron was the first to notice him, looking up. His eyes narrowed a little, with something unrecognizable in the dimness. Perhaps sensing the confusion, he rose from the chair and moved to the door, where the Healer stood.

Draco held his ground, faintly aware that Hermione took notice of him and that she looked to her husband with uncertainty.

There was no telling what Ron planned to do.

It was only when he reached the door, standing about two feet from Draco, that Ron looked at him, man-to-man. "Thank you," he said, with hardened recognition. "I've been told you saved her life — twice." With that, the red-haired wizard held out his hand. "Bygones?"

For a moment, Draco stared at him, unsure of what to do, before accepting the handshake; absently taking note of the fact that it was near identical to Hugo's.

"Bygones," the blonde conceded.

Having moved from the bed to her husband's side, Hermione Granger (or did she change it to Weasley?) offered him a smile.

"Rose speaks fondly of you," she voiced. "Hugo, as well. He's a big fan of your medical work."

Draco laughed inwardly, recalling the boy's enthusiasm for his paper on merpeople. "Yes, I met him earlier today."

"I hope he wasn't bothersome," Hermione frowned, scrunching her lips, as though Draco wasn't the first wizard her son had fanboy'd over. "Anyway, don't mind us. I'm sure you have work to do."

Ron nodded in agreement with his wife. From there, they slipped back to their respective sides of the room. Draco waited a moment, allowing the nerves in his stomach to settle down, before hooking the medication he'd brought with him, to the tube connected to Rose's arm. Somewhere along the line, the girl had shifted a little and faced away from her mother. Draco took a moment to check her vitals.

Temperature was no higher than expected. No sneezes; at least none of the fiery sort. Breathing patterns were normal. It seemed her greenish skin tone was the only aspect of her recovery that required immediate attention. His eyes drifted to the pot of cream on her side table, and with one look at her face, arms and neck, he was able to discern the fact that the cream had been applied incorrectly.

"Something wrong?" Hermione asked, noticing the twitch of his lip.

Draco looked to her. "Nothing serious," he assured her. "Just — the nurses seem to have made an error."

Ron glanced up, setting down his issue of _Quidditch Weekly_. "What sort of error? Is she hurt?"

"No. Not at all," the Healer made sure to communicate. "She's fine. There's just a special way of applying the topical cream, to ensure her skin returns to its normal colour. I'm sure it was an innocent mistake. One of the newer nurses, perhaps."

Hermione cleared her throat, a little white in the face. "Actually, it was me. Rose tried telling me I was doing it wrong, but…"

"No worries," Draco told her, dismissing the mistake. "It's an easy fix."

Both Ron and Hermione looked at him, watching as he dipped his fingers into the tub of cream and applied it gently onto the back of Rose's hand. He was slow about it; careful not to wake her. Aware of the eyes that followed his actions, he made sure to focus only on her hand and nowhere else. Not that he focused anywhere else before.

"It's important to massage the cream directly into the pores," he explained, figuring it was better to fill the silence, as opposed to saying nothing. "The best way to do that, is to massage in tight circles. Bit tedious, but it gets the job done. Rose will be thankful."

For a moment, he paused, suddenly aware that his words could easily have been misconstrued for another, much more _intimate _action.

"A — Anyway," he transitioned, promptly handing the tub of cream to the girl's mother. "Have at it."

* * *

><p><strong><em>9:20PM<em>**

Rose awoke sometime later.

She felt something; the strangest sensation along her arms and shoulders. It took a few seconds for her eyes to open, but before they did, she heard voices.

_Have at it. _

_Erm, I'd hate to make another mistake. Perhaps, if you aren't needed elsewhere, you could continue and fix the other discoloured bits. Now that I'm looking at it, her back is even greener than before._

_Come on, Hermione. I'm sure the man has other work to do._

_I — _

_Ronald, lower your tone. Rose needs to rest._

_How about _**_you _**_lower _**_your _**_tone? _

_Oh, for heaven's sake…_

It carried on like that for another minute, before the third voice — the one that belonged to neither her mother nor father — chimed in, suggesting her parents go downstairs to the cafeteria and grab a bite, whilst he take care of their daughter. Another twenty seconds of '_Are you sure?_' and '_We'd hate to inconvenience you…_' before her parents followed his instruction and left the room.

Only then, did Rose open her eyes.

The room was dimmer than when she'd fallen asleep. It can't have been for very long, going by the time on the clock. Less than an hour. Nonetheless, her thoughts were far from that. Her breathing changed, as she opened her eyes fully, and with that, she sensed him behind her. He applied the cream to her skin in slow, tight circles; similar to the way he'd done it before, but different all the same.

Rose sighed a little. "That feels nice…"

"Tell me they don't argue like that all the time," Draco teased, applying the cream to her shoulders.

She laughed. "Oh, merlin. What you heard was the tip of the iceberg. Trust me."

"Going by the way they used to bicker in school, I can only imagine…" he furthered, abruptly ceasing his movements, as though he'd unintentionally reminded himself of how old he was compared to her. "Long time ago."

Rose hovered there for a moment, closing her eyes. "Please, don't stop."

"Rose…"

"Please," she echoed, facing him. "I'll do my arms and legs on my own, but I can't reach my back."

Draco looked at her, standing there in the dimness, with the tub of cream in his hands and a thinly veiled, vulnerable look in his eyes. She could almost hear his inner debate; whether he should carry on, or retreat to the confines of his office. It was only when she turned around and loosely tugged at the shoulders of her hospital gown, revealing her back to him, that the decision was made.

She closed her eyes.

It happened slowly.

One second, she was left sitting there, uncertain as to whether he was still in the room…and the next second, the cold, smooth cream was massaged to the area between her shoulder blades. Rose opened her mouth a little, careful not to sigh in case the action of doing so would scare him off. With her hair to one side, she kept quiet, choosing instead to enjoy every second of what was happening, on the chance that it would never happen again.

Draco's hands were warm against her skin, but she shivered anyway. Not once in her relationship with Liam, had his touch burned through her with such slow, but steady precision. She couldn't help it when her imagination took off, wandering in all sorts of directions.

It felt good.

So, _so_ good.

Rose privately wondered, if he knew she wasn't a virgin. It made her feel a little bit naughty to think of those things, whilst he was performing Healer duties, but there was no way around it. Particularly since his movements drifted from between her shoulder blades, to the lower region of her back. Her eyes fluttered shut, rather quickly.

"You okay?" Draco asked, sensing her change in breathing.

She didn't say anything, at first, too worried that she would do something stupid — like moan.

"Yeah. I'm…I'm okay."

Draco kept going, massaging the cream to the small of her back, and down her sides. Though his movements were slow, it seemed the process ended far too quickly. Rose opened her eyes minutes later, reluctantly tugging the shoulders of her hospital gown back on, and then facing him. It surprised her that he hadn't already left, but she supposed there was something on his mind; something he wanted to tell her.

"Before you say it — let me ask you something," she voiced, looking to him with determination. "Please."

"Rose —"

"Please," she said again. "Last night. Did — Did you feel it, too?"

Though his silence was deafening, it was clear that he understood what she asked. The answer, it seemed, was carved into the slate grey of his eyes. She stared deeper into them, recognizing the thick, hardened ache, and beneath it all, the tenderness.

For some reason, there were tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Don't," he suddenly said; strain in his voice. "Don't cry."

Rose suppressed the rising tide as best she could, tilting her head down to wipe her cheeks using the bed covers. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I cry so much when I'm around you. It — It's like —" She fell silent, breathing in as he carefully reached down, and held her hand in his, lowering his lips over the soft beat of her pulse. Such a sweet, simple action, but enough to make her heart pound against her ribs like a bass drum.

She tilted her head up, looking at him.

For longer than either of them anticipated, they hovered in that moment. It was a fight between the gravity that pulled them together, and the ethical dilemma that set them apart.

Surprisingly, it was Draco who broke the silence.

"I felt it," he answered, sweeping her up in those three short syllables. "Of course, I felt it."

Rose blinked, holding back the moisture that pooled around her eyes. "You still owe me almond chicken," she teased, lightening the mood because she needed to.

Draco smiled. "I'll get on that, as soon as I can."

"You better."

From there, the moment went on. Doing nothing but hovering like that and looking at one another, as if waiting for the other to vanish, it came to no shock when their bodies slowly drifted closer. Rose breathed in, carefully, sensing she would lose her mind if she didn't consciously make an effort to breathe and blink. Draco leaned towards her and used their close proximity to wipe the tears from her lashes.

It lasted for all of thirty seconds, before their bodies pressed together in a loose but liberating embrace.

To her amazement, he didn't pull away.

Rose exhaled, tentatively draping her arms over his shoulders. It took a little longer for him to reciprocate, but when he did, with his arms holding her to him, she couldn't help but sigh, nuzzling deep into the crevice of his neck. If there were ever a moment to look back on and ask herself why on earth she of all people had caught dragon pox — it was _that _moment, with him.

"Do you feel it now?" she asked.

The response came sooner than she imagined it would; though, she figured it had something to do with the fact that her parents' voices echoed down the corridor.

For the briefest moment, his hold tightened. "Yes," Draco murmured to her, lips grazing the skin of her ear, before the door opened and he pulled away.

Her parents were none the wiser.

**A/N: Aw, what a couple of dorks. Do we like it? Do we love it? Do we hate it?**


	9. Day Nine

**A/N: Chapter Nine! **

**_12:05PM _**

Rose looked to her mother, watching as the woman placed various odds and ends around the room, decorating it with framed photographs and things of that nature. It didn't make a massive difference, and although the idea of decorating her room implied that she would be there a for a long, long time — the young witch didn't mind. In fact, she was rather reluctant to leave, knowing deep down that her feelings for a certain someone were growing with each day. It would be impossible to see him, once she fully recovered and returned to Hogwarts. Albus offered the suggestion of meeting with her most favourite Healer in secret, during weekend trips to Hogsmeade Village, but the risk of being seen was too high. Draco would never consent to that. _She _wouldn't even consent to that. The problem with their situation, other than the obvious, was the prominence of both their families. The Malfoy's were well-known, and so were the Weasley's. On the rare occasion that Rose's family went out for dinner or a Quidditch game, there was a media frenzy — led by none other than Rita Skeeter.

It was one thing for her parents to catch wind of her romance, but it was something else entirely for the media.

She could already visualize the headlines, cringing at the mere notion of it. Draco would be known as some sort of statutory rapist, and she would be pitied for no reason. There _were _actual cases of statutory rape, wherein the older party coerced the younger party into sexual relations and things of that sort, but there was no coercion between her and Draco. None from his end, at least. It seemed, the more she thought about it, that he wished he didn't feel so drawn to her; that he would have traveled back in time and erased the moment they met, if given the chance. Did she blame him? No. She would have found his affections overwhelming and a little frightening, had he been forthright and _so willing _to cross that line. She liked that he was cautious and at odds with what was going on, because it proved that was a good man and more importantly, that he actually did care. That said, it still hurt to know he didn't want those feelings.

Rose closed her eyes, thinking of their embrace and the way Draco spoke to her, confessing his feelings and removing any doubts she may have had.

"What's on your mind?" Hermione asked, taking notice of the starry-eyed look on her daughter's face.

Though it pained her to do so, Rose left those feelings on the back burner and continued writing in her diary. "Nothing important," she answered, in a casual manner. "Just worried about a couple things I have to do, once I'm out of here."

"Like?"

Rose looked to the stack of books on her side table, frowning a little. "That mountain of schoolwork, for one…"

Hermione smiled knowingly and continued decorating the room, placing a photograph of Rose and Liam beside the bed.

"Er —" The young witch scrunched her lips. "Maybe not that one."

"Oh?" her mother asked. "Did something happen?"

"We're not together anymore," Rose shrugged. "It was…my idea, and trust me when I say it was the right decision."

Hermione stared at her, wearing an indecipherable look. She didn't look at all displeased. Just…calm and knowing. "I'm proud of you," she then said. "I know I don't tell you enough, but I'm proud to be your mother, Rose. I truly am."

"Er — thanks," the redhead voiced, confused and curious at the same time. "You're proud because I broke up with Liam?"

The older witch laughed. "I'm proud that you're already mature enough to know when something or _someone _is wrong for you, and that you're able to assert those feelings in a constructive manner."

Rose listened to what her mother was saying, having the striking suspicion that the woman wasn't referring to Liam — but to another elephant in the room. "Are you and dad…okay?"

"Of course," Hermione quickly inserted. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Rose fibbed. "Just — never mind. Forget I mentioned it."

Hermione looked at her, tilting her head to the side, knowingly. She waited a couple seconds, before situating herself on the foot of the bed and sighing rather deeply, as if to indicate there _was _something going on.

"I've known your father since we got on that train to Hogwarts for the first time," she explained. "That's twenty-four years; seven of which were spent on the brink of death, fighting off evil wizards with your Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. In the early days, we were at each other's throats. I'm sure we annoyed your Uncle Harry to the moon and back, but even he knew we argued, not because we loathed one another, but because we couldn't help the love that eventually blossomed. I loved your father then, and I love him still," Hermione carried on to say, glancing down for the briefest moment. " — but the thing about love, the thing nobody cares to say, is that it doesn't start or end in that single moment, wherein you confess your feelings. No, that's the easy part. It's what follows the confession, that matters most. It's taking off those rose-coloured glasses, having the ability to look that person in the eye and see their flaws with as much clarity as you see your own; not a romantic view, by any means, but that's the difference between romance and love," she furthered. "Romance won't roam through darkness for miles on end, following the sound of your voice and nothing else — but love, my sweet daughter, _will_."

Hermione took a moment, then, to glance at the photograph on the desk — the one of their family, on a picnic, in the park across the street from their first house. It had been taken a long time ago, before Hugo learned to walk, and although Rose couldn't recall a lot from what happened that day, she did remember feeling happy. Invincible, as kids do. It was one of the only times in her life, wherein her parents left their bickering at home and chose instead to enjoy the sun overhead and the grass beneath their feet.

"To answer your question, there _is_ something going on, and although I had no plans of telling you until you were out of the hospital — I might as well take the time to explain right now, while we're able to talk in private." The brunette spared a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Thing is, your father and myself struggle to maintain our marriage, and I'll admit, there were a few times when we strongly considered some time apart…"

Rose blinked, waiting. "…but?"

"…but…" Hermione continued. "…we decided against that."

"I'm confused," her daughter voiced. "If you're not splitting up, why have you been acting so strange towards one another?"

"Because no matter how much you love someone, it isn't healthy to spend every waking second with them," the brunette explained. "Most couples have separate jobs and lead separate lives, but your father and myself have attended school together and worked together for twenty-four years. That sort of lifestyle would suffocate anyone, regardless of the dynamic."

Rose weighed on that, thinking about it. "I guess…" she tentatively agreed. "…but if both of you feel that way, why don't you do something about it?"

"We are," Hermione answered. "Our first session of marriage counselling is scheduled for next week…and I know your father would probably have preferred to tell you this next piece of information on his own, but he's made plans to leave the Auror Department, and to work alongside your Uncle George."

"Dad's going to work at _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?_" Rose asked, a little surprised, but at the same time, not.

Hermione nodded, smiling. "It's been a secret little dream of his for ages. So when your Uncle George offered him the job last summer, he accepted. All he had to do was complete his last outgoing mission, with me, and now that, that mission is over, he's free to work with George and pursue his true passion."

"Huh…"

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, with a bout of concern, fearing she had said too much.

Rose scratched her head. "I just — I can't believe Hugo and I were right."

"Oh. Well, you _are_ quite perceptive."

The younger witch nodded, still a bit dazed from all the information that was thrown on her, but relieved that her parents were okay — for the time being, at least.

"We learn from the best," Rose decided, moving across the bed to give her mother a long overdue hug. "I'm glad you're back."

* * *

><p><strong><em>10:09PM<em>**

Draco met with Blaise that night, having had a bit to drink. It was on rare occasion that he took up his best mate's offer to grab a pint at the local pub. His job was time consuming, and on the off chance that he did have some time off, he preferred to sleep. That in mind, he knew he couldn't neglect his friend any longer. There was…a reason he needed to let loose, without the constant reminder that he was to be responsible, and follow each and every rule to which he was bound.

"She's quite a bit younger than me," Blaise offered, explaining to his best friend, the details behind his latest conquest. "Ten years. Is that too much?"

"Wh —" Draco choked on his drink, catching the attention of several staff and passersby. "No — Not at all. Ten years is fine."

Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Huh. I thought you'd take the whole moralistic approach, and lecture me about the importance of balance and respect and how none of those things are achievable in a relationship, when there's a significant age gap."

Draco swirled his glass of whiskey, trying to think of something to say. Had it been earlier that week, before he'd met Rose and before he'd accidentally fallen for her, he probably would have lectured Blaise on the importance of equality.

But he slowly came to find, that there was _no_ reason two people of different generations _couldn't_ be equal.

It wasn't that age was _just a number._ It was that age held no bearing on the depth of a single soul, and more importantly, the ability for that soul to find another and connect on a human level. He'd met plenty of old, tired people with an abundance of life experience and nothing to show for it. There was no single number in the human race, that could measure such a thing.

That in mind, he finished off his whiskey and felt his head float high up, to the clouds. It happened again, after trying so long and so hard to avoid it.

"I think I'm done for the night…" Draco managed to say, tossing money on the table and standing from his seat, only to fall back down again. His head was spinning. "Which way is the door, again…?"

Blaise cracked up, smacking his best friend on the shoulder. "You're drunk, mate. Sit down. Sober up. I'll make sure you get home in one piece. Have no fear."

Draco groaned, resting his head on the table. "I can't be drunk right now. I have to see her…"

"Mate, listen to me. Showing up drunk on Astoria's doorstep will do you no good."

"I'm not talking about Astoria," he grumbled. "I — er —"

"Wait!" Blaise interjected. "You're shagging _someone new_? You should have told me! You could have brought her here and I could have brought Liz, and we could have swapped for the night!"

Draco tilted his head up and scowled at him.

"I'm only kidding," his friend laughed. "Liz is off limits."

"So is mine," the blonde echoed, _to me more than anyone_.

Blaise shifted in his seat a little, unable to contain his enthusiasm. "I don't know where to begin," he voiced. "Is she pureblood?"

"No."

"Do Lucius and Narcissa know about her?"

"Hell no."

Blaise snorted with laughter. "She must be a keeper," he decided, non-sarcastically. "You should bring her around next time. Let me meet this mystery lady."

Draco sighed. "Can't."

"Come on. Why not?" the more sober of the two asked. "Don't tell me you found another uppity princess, who can't down a pint without making some fruity concoction out of it…"

"No, she's…not like that at all," Draco answered, thinking about it — about _her_. "Definitely not the princess type."

Blaise nodded with approval. "Good. Last thing you need is Astoria 2.0."

Draco couldn't disagree with that. "Enough about Astoria."

"Merlin's erect tits!" his friend exclaimed, smacking him on the shoulder again, laughing and smiling. "I've been waiting _years _for you to say that!"

"Me too," he realized.

"So tell me about this new bird…" Blaise continued. "What's she like?"

Draco exhaled, having tried his best until then, to erase the image of Rose from his mind. But it was burned there, permanently, where he could see it every time he closed his eyes. Being drunk did nothing to quell the ache he felt, through not being able to pursue her the way he could have, had she been five or six years older.

The alcohol only seemed to amplify his feelings, to the point that he could feel her arms draped over his shoulders, and practically hear her voice; specifically, the moment she asked him whether he _felt it_, as though his feelings for her were ever up for debate.

"Fucking hell…" Blaise interjected, dragging him back to reality. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Draco straightened, looking for some shred of sobriety. "It doesn't matter," he decided. "I can't be with her."

"Oh, mate. Don't tell me she's married."

"No. Not married."

"But you can't be with her?" his friend repeated. "Elaborate for me."

"I can't. It's…complicated."

Blaise narrowed his eyes a little, in thought. "Is she not interested?"

Draco tossed him an obvious look.

"Okay, okay, so we've established the fact that she's interested…" Blaise chuckled. "But I don't get it. If she's single and interested, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to —" His words cut off. His face turned solid with shock. "I _knew _something was up, when you didn't lecture me!"

"**Keep your voice down** — " Draco inserted, sharply. "Let's not give Rita Skeeter her newest headline."

Blaise rocked back and forth, borderline mental going by the sheer shock and amazement on his face. It looked as though he'd been handed the key to the universe, unearthing every secret known to man.

Seconds turned into minutes, before he was finally able to settle down and ask the most important question of the night.

"How old is she?"

Draco knew, at that point, that it didn't matter how much he had to drink. He would never relinquish information about Rose, even to someone as trustworthy as Blaise. Instead of detailing the saga from the beginning, he offered Blaise some key points. Such as, the fact that his mystery lady was a patient at St. Mungo's, and that she was…a lot younger. Though, he didn't offer an exact number. He hoped Blaise would understand the look on his face and tone of his voice, and know not to pry too far.

Luckily, did did understand. Instead of shooting more questions at Draco, he offered him some advice.

_Be honest with her. Fuck the rest of the world for a minute, and be honest with her. _

Bearing that, Draco left the pub about an hour later and walked along the streets of London, feeling the brisk, frigid air sober him right up, and the sign on one of the nearby shops dig a hole through his peripheral vision. Without really thinking about what time it was, or whether she'd be asleep, he crossed the road and entered the shop; intent on one thing.

* * *

><p><strong><em>11:35PM<em>**

Rose scribbled in her diary, shooting fast looks at the clock here and there, as the hour hand moved closer and closer to midnight. For two nights in a row, he'd been late to visit. There was no guarantee that he would be there at all, seeing as Hilda mentioned he had the night off. But she looked at the clock anyway, trying desperately to distract herself using her diary and an abundance of things from her bedroom at home.

It was safe to assume her diary _did not_ do the trick.

The more she tried to write, the closer she became to writing about him, but she couldn't do that. It was Merlin's guess how many times Hugo had skimmed her diary. Thankfully, he'd never found anything particularly incriminating, but her luck would most definitely change, if she so much as _hinted _at what was going with the handsome Healer from St. Mungo's.

Slowly, her eyes began to close. After staying up so late waiting for him, she was knackered.

_Maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a second..._

It was only when that happened, when she surrendered to her dreams and fell further into that alcove of her mind, that someone entered the room. Though she was too tired to make out who it was, she did feel the faintest, softest touch upon her lips; one that coaxed her out of her dreamy state and caused the breath she'd been holding, to release.

She opened her eyes, seeing nothing but her usual surroundings, bathed in dimness.

Only, there was one difference.

Beside her, was a single red rose. Simple, but elegant. From there, there was no turning back. She closed her eyes and dreamt of him, feeling in her heart and more importantly in her mind, that her mother was right. There was a difference between love and romance, and although giving her a single red rose could easily have been interpreted as a romantic gesture — there was nothing fanciful or idealistic about Draco Malfoy doing such a thing. From him, it was honest and it was eloquent, and it left him vulnerable to her in ways that echoed long after that night.

From him, it was love.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please tell me what you think. I needz feedback! Haha. **


	10. Day Ten

**A/N: Chapter Ten!**

**_10:45PM_**

Rose awoke the next night to find her room empty. _Yes_. It seemed, after two straight days of spending morning, afternoon and evening with her mother and father — she had her fill. Of course, she missed them and wished to see them more often than not, but their presence at the hospital led to many an awkward moment where Draco was concerned. Not so much when he was there, but when he was mentioned. Her mother was very perceptive, which meant the smallest twitch or the slightest change in expression would give it away — and she couldn't risk that.

For Draco's sake, more than hers.

Pushing those thoughts aside, she stretched into a yawn and reached to the side table — for her diary.

Only, it wasn't there.

"Er —"

The young witch blinked, several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust. It was on rare occasion that she misplaced anything. More often than not, her diary was in possession of Hugo — but he hadn't been there since the first time he came to visit. Suddenly alert, Rose searched for the diary under her bedcovers, hoping she'd fallen asleep with it on accident.

"Shit —"

For the second time, it wasn't there.

Rose swallowed, hard. Again, there was nothing incriminating in her diary; nothing indicative of recent developments. But the fact that it was _missing _left her stomach in knots. There was no way she misplaced it. Someone had to have stolen it. More than that, whomever it was had to have done so **for a reason. **

Perhaps…

"No," she voiced, out loud. "No, no, no."

It was impossible.

She left no reason for anyone to suspect anything. She was smart about it. She was careful. She didn't talk about him or ask about him or even look at him for too long. There was no reason to believe anything was going on between them. Unless, of course, _he _gave it away. Unlikely, seeing as he had that whole _cool detachment _thing going on, but she couldn't think of another reason as to why anyone other than Hugo would steal her diary.

Feeling a little lightheaded, she hurriedly lifted the bedcovers from herself, and bolted for the loo. There was always the chance she left in there. Again, it was unlikely — but she was desperate. With the IV pole rolling behind her, she opened the door to the adjoining bathroom and found nothing, but the same tube of toothpaste and toothbrush she'd been using for the past week and a half. There was nothing in the shower, and nothing in the sink, and, as she bent down to check, nothing behind the toilet.

"What are you doing…?"

Rose gasped, spinning around and coming scarcely close to falling arse first onto the hard, tiled flooring. "Oh my — !" She breathed, heavily, fixing her attention forward to find a certain Healer standing there. "You're here."

Draco arched an eyebrow, lips twisting with amusement as he helped the witch to her feet. "Why is it, that you're never in bed like you're supposed to be?" he asked, leading her out of the bathroom.

She tossed an indecipherable look at him. "Is that an invitation?"

"Er —" His face blanched.

Rose laughed. "I'm teasing."

From there, she climbed onto the bed and watched him, as he went about his usual tasks. Only then, did she think to ask.

"Have you seen my diary?"

Draco used his wand to replenish her medication. "Your diary?"

"Yeah…" she confirmed, thinking of a way to explain the situation without making him panic (or think she was incompetent). "I, erm, I can't seem to find it."

"Is that what you were looking for back there?"

Rose cleared her throat, with a nod. "It's…in here somewhere, I'm sure."

For some reason, Draco kept calm. To the point that she wondered whether he'd heard the words that had come from her mouth. It was a serious issue, of course. He, more than anyone involved, had the most at stake. Again, it didn't matter that she had written nothing about him in her diary, because whoever stole it was obviously looking for evidence of some sort. Evidence that would work against Draco, and all the things he achieved in his life.

She breathed in, collecting her thoughts. "So, have you seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"My diary," she repeated, sounding rather agitated by that point. "You know…the leather-bound book that I use to vent my deepest, darkest secrets. Perfect for anyone who wants to — _hmm, I don't know_ — **blackmail me.**"

Draco pocketed his wand of hawthorn and unicorn hair, and then looked at her. "Are you talking about _that_ leather-bound book?" he asked, nodding to the object underneath her pillow.

For a moment, she didn't say anything. Rose turned, fast as lightning, and felt the weight on her shoulders vanish in that same second. "_Oh, thank Merlin_," she sighed, clutching the book to her chest, like a stuffed animal. "I — I thought I lost it. I thought someone _stole_ it. I thought —" Her words cut short, as she opened her eyes and looked at him. "What's wrong?"

His eyes locked with hers. "Is that what this has come down to? You were honestly under the impression that someone stole your diary, with the intent to blackmail you?" he asked. "Rose…I'm your Healer. I shouldn't be adding to your stress. I should be _healing_ you."

There was a gap between her lips, from where she breathed in, uncertain as to what she could possibly say. He was right. She overreacted, and would never have done so, had their 'bond' remained platonic.

"I think it would be a good idea for us to keep things _normal _for awhile," he suggested. "I know a lot has happened — and fast, but before we make any rash decisions and do things we can't take back, I have to make sure you've recovered and that you're out of this hospital as soon as possible. If that means putting an end to this, or simply slowing it down, then so be it. I'm unwilling to risk your health for a kiss that could be saved for a later time."

Rose listened, mature enough to both understand his point and agree with him, but reluctant all the same. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "I get it."

For a moment, the Healer simply stared at her. It looked as though he were trying to find a fracture in the conviction behind her words — but there was nothing to find.

"G — Good," he nodded, clearing his throat a little. "I'll just — I'll be — I should — "

_Sod it. _

Rose launched at him, knocking him back a couple steps and locking her legs around his torso. "Kiss me —" she quickly said, drawing one short breath before her demands were met. Draco found his balance, pressing his back to the wall, whilst careful not to snag the tube attached to her arm.

Their lips met in a flurry of fear and heat and desperation.

For the first real time, Draco kissed her. It started off fast and sweeping, but transitioned to something softer and more delicate, as though he sensed it would be too much too soon. Rose did, after all, still have dragon pox. She wasn't nearly as weak as last time — but that didn't stop her strength from disappearing, the moment she launched at him.

Draco repositioned her, holding her body loosely to his chest and taking his time, as he placed her on the foot of the bed.

Only then, did he separate from her.

"Sorry," Rose quickly said, with arms still draped over his shoulders. "I — I don't know what came over me."

"You don't have to ex —"

"It's just — I can't stop thinking about last night, and the rose, and the kiss, and — and —"

Draco silenced her, delivering a swift peck to her lips. "It's okay," he said to her, in nothing but a murmur. "I understand how you feel. I feel the same. I — I'm glad we could do that, but what we talked about still stands."

Rose nodded, in complete agreement. "Of course," she voiced, sincerely. "I — I just have to know — how long you want to — wait — because I'll have to go back to school once I'm out of here and the term isn't over for another five months."

"Then we'll wait five months."

"But that's over one hundred and fifty days," she calculated. "I don't know if I can wait that long. What if — What if you find someone else?"

Draco smiled. "Trust me. I can be very patient." He took the next moment to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Even so, I don't want that to keep you from having your own experiences."

"You're talking about sex?"

"Er —" His expression wavered a bit. "No, not entirely. But, now that it has been mentioned, I do think it's important that you share those experiences with someone closer to your age."

Rose couldn't help but laugh. "I'm not a virgin," she told him. "Though, I'll admit it I do find it interesting to know you've been thinking about us in _that_ way."

He opened his mouth. "I —"

"Kidding," she inserted, smiling. "But, erm, would it be too forward of me if I asked about — about that time you, erm, had lipstick on your neck?"

Draco blanked a moment, as though he had no idea what she was talking about. "Oh —" he finally realized. "You're talking about Pansy. That was — She was — It was nothing."

"Are you sure?" Rose asked. "Because I won't get jealous or anything. Well, I mean, maybe a little bit, but…"

"Don't worry," he told her, smiling. "There's no one."

"What about your ex-wife?"

"What about her?" Draco asked, rhetorically.

Rose couldn't help but smile a little. She tilted her head down, hiding her face from him, until it hit her — again. "One hundred and fifty days," she repeated, as though it were a death sentence. "That's a long time, and it's not the same as it is here in the hospital. I won't get to see you at all. Even if we write, it would be…risky."

He nodded, as though he'd thought about it a fair amount on his own. "Then I guess this is a good time to show you."

She looked at him, opening her mouth to ask what he was talking about, and then looking at him, as he reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a small, rectangular mirror. "That's a…"

"Two-way mirror." Draco handed it to her. "I have the other one, and I know it's a little forward of me to present this to you but…I figured if you ever need anyone to talk to when you're back in school, or just, if you need help in Potions or something…I'm one glance away."

Rose held in the mirror in the palm of her hand, at a loss for words. "It's — It's perfect," she voiced, tossing a quick look at him. "Oh, my gosh. Can we test it out right now?"

"Here?"

She nodded, rapidly.

Draco cracked another smile, amused by her enthusiasm. "I'd love to, but I think it's time for you to rest. Plus, I do have other patients…"

"Ah, right." Rose glanced down and milked it for a second, before looking at him again, victim to the smile that found her lips. "Have a good night, Healer Malfoy. I'll...see you _soon_."

**A/N: A short one, I know. The next chapter should be lengthy (and filled with some interesting...stuff haha). Thanks for your patience and support! I've been dealing with some weeeeeird stuff in my personal life, so all your wonderful comments really brighten up my day. Thanks, again. I'll update as soon as I can! **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	11. Day Eleven & Twelve

**A/N: Chapter Eleven! I've decided to split this chapter into two parts. This is the first part. Enjoy! **

**_8:34AM_**

Rose took a break from schoolwork, as her father entered the room. He was on his own that day, as Hermione had a few errands to run.

"Morning," he smiled, giving her a quick peck on the forehead. "How's the schoolwork coming along?"

She glanced down at her Transfiguration essay, frowning a little. "Er — still quite a bit to do, but I should be caught up in time. Though, I can't seem to figure out how to go about this essay on Cross-Species Switches."

"Not to worry," Ron assured his daughter, dragging a chair next to the bed, before having a seat. "I'm more than happy to help." He skimmed the page with animated concentration. "Right, so, things is…erm…"

Rose held back her laughter. "You have _no idea_ what Cross-Species Switches are, do you?"

"Not a clue," he laughed, right along with her. "Your mother will be here in the afternoon. I'm sure she knows all about Cross-Space Twitches."

The young witch opened her mouth to correct him, but didn't. Instead, she watched through the corner of her eye, as his attention drifted to the single red rose on her side table.

Ron eyed it for a moment, visibly confused. "I thought you and Liam broke it off."

"We did," she confirmed, without thinking it through. "Er — that's from — that's from Albus."

"Albus?" he repeated, looking at her. "As in, your _cousin_ Albus?"

Rose blanched. "Yeah, he — erm — he knows I keep some roses in the girls dormitory at Hogwarts, and — erm — and generously thought to bring me one when he came to visit a couple days ago. You know, to make the room more homey and stuff."

"Huh…" Ron scratched the back of his head, puzzled. "That was — nice of him. Bit romantic though, don't you think?"

"**No**," she quickly said. "According to — er — to various floral magazines, red roses have been succeeded by carnations as the most romantic flower."

"Really?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. "In that case, maybe I should pick up a bouquet of those for your mother. Our anniversary is next week."

"Perfect," his daughter remarked, nodding with enthusiasm. "She's going to _love_ them."

Ron smiled, looking quite pleased with himself.

Over the next ten minutes, Rose tried her absolute best to focus on the task at hand, but all she could think about were her parents. Mostly, how they would react upon finding out their daughter was secretly involved with an older man. Though, he wasn't just _any _man. He was, of course, an ex-Death Eater _and _their daughter's Healer _and _an old rival of theirs.

It looked bad. No matter which way she tried to spin it, it looked bad. Like, devastatingly bad; to the point that she sincerely wondered which method of attack her father would use against Draco. Muggle or magic?

Probably magic.

"Oh — I forgot to say," Ron broke through, drawing her attention back to him. "Your mother wants to invite Healer Malfoy to our house for dinner this weekend, as a thank you for everything he's done."

Rose stared at him, frozen with shock. "_What?_"

Her father shrugged. "I know it's a bit strange, given our history with him, but it's the right thing to do. Plus, it's the right time to do it, since neither of us will be working, and you'll finally be out of this place. All that's left is to confirm with him."

She swallowed, hard. "I — I thought I had to go back to Hogwarts as soon as possible."

Ron shook his head, oblivious to thoughts running through hers. "No, the nurses said you're to stay at home for the weekend. Standard procedure."

Rose looked down. The news should have made her ecstatic, but all she felt was the knot in her stomach. With each second, it tightened, reminding her of how thankful her parents had been towards their daughter's Healer, and how devastated they would be, if they learned the truth.

It would be an _interesting_ meal, to say the least.

But she didn't want _interesting_.

She didn't want to sit through that dinner, under the constant reminder that she and Draco had betrayed her parents' trust. It was hard enough lying to them in the hospital, but to lie to them in their own home was something else entirely. Even so, she couldn't help but feel distantly happy, knowing she would get to see Draco one last time, before heading back to Hogwarts.

Maybe it was a sign.

Maybe it was…time.

* * *

><p><strong><em>1:45AM<em>**

Draco stood beneath the shower head, allowing warm water to fountain over him and massage the strain from his muscles. It was a long day, and the fact that Hilda was on his arse about one thing after another, did not help in the slightest. She was a nice woman and a fantastic nurse, but a bit overbearing. Either way, it reassured him to know he had such a diligent, dedicated nurse by his side.

That in mind, he left the shower and ruffled his hair with a towel, before wrapping it around his waist. It was an unnecessary measure, seeing as he lived on his own, but he did it out of habit.

From there, he proceeded down the corridor and into his bedroom, where he tugged on some clean clothes and then made his way to the kitchen for a quick bite. It was a little late to be eating, but he skipped out on lunch and dinner, and was therefore famished. Surprisingly enough, he found food in his kitchen. Some home-cooked beef wellington, with roasted potatoes and a nice bottle of red wine.

Only, he didn't remember making any of that.

Draco turned, clutching the granite countertop as his ex-wife emerged from the shadows.

She was there, in the flesh, dressed in the last thing he'd purchased for her: a black cocktail dress that left little to the imagination.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, with mingled fright and outrage. "Better yet, how the hell did you get inside?"

Astoria sauntered through the doorway and into the kitchen, with her hair down to her shoulders in soft spirals. It was the same way she used to style her hair, before their marriage turned to rubbish.

"I figured neither of us should be alone tonight," the woman voiced, using the same raspy tone that used to drive him wild. "It _is _our anniversary."

Draco swallowed, hoping to Merlin that he had simply fallen asleep at his desk, and would soon wake up from this horrid nightmare. "We — You — I — How did you get in here?" he demanded, for the second time. "I don't remember giving you a key."

Astoria rolled her eyes, ceasing movement about three feet from him. Far enough that she couldn't touch him, but close enough that he caught scent of her signature perfume. Opium, by Yves Saint Laurent. It was a bit strong for his tastes, but brought with it a wave of memories.

"It was easy enough to break in," she explained, using the same raspy tone, whilst scanning her manicured fingernails. "By the way, you might want to fix that lock."

His eyes widened. "You — You broke in?"

She glared at him, lazily. "No, obviously not. The door was unlocked."

Draco took a moment, pushing the nerves further down his throat. "Tell me why you're here."

"Besides the fact that it's our anniversary?"

He narrowed his eyes. "We're divorced. There _is_ no anniversary."

Astoria looked to him with unwavering indifference, had it not been for the twitch along her bottom lip. "So it must be true then…"

"What must be true?"

"You're seeing someone."

Draco cleared his throat, taken aback. "That's none of your business."

"I know that," she said to him, moving one step closer. " — but that doesn't stop me from being curious."

He straightened. "You need to leave, Astoria. Immediately. I've just worked a twelve hour shift. I don't need this right now."

"Did you see her?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"The woman you've been dating," Astoria furthered, moving another step closer, and then another, before tracing her finger down his torso. Her eyes flicked up at him, as she reached his lower abdomen. "She's a patient in the hospital, isn't she?"

"I — I beg your pardon?" His face blanched. "What on earth would lead you to believe I'm dating one of my patients?"

Her smile tightened. "I don't recall saying she was one of _your _patients."

Draco clenched his jaw. "This is absurd."

"You think so?" she asked, laughing as he swatted her hand away. "Do you remember Daphne's niece, the one you hired as a nurse at that hospital? Well, she came around mine earlier and offered the most interesting bit of gossip."

His lip twitched. "Esther."

Astoria smiled _even_ deeper. "Yes, Esther."

"She was fired last week."

"She was," the witch nodded, eyeing him with venom in those orbs. "Turns out, she left some things at the hospital and had to go pick them up late last night."

Draco tensed.

Astoria leaned towards him, holding the suspense a second longer, before whispering the next bit directly into his ear. "You won't _believe _what Esther saw, when she passed Room 243."

**A/N: Oh, snap! It's about to go down. **


	12. Day Twelve & Thirteen & Fourteen

**A/N: Chapter Twelve! **

**_2:04AM_**

Rose tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

She'd barely caught a glimpse of Draco. He rushed into room around nine o'clock, when both her parents had been there, and quickly agreed to go to dinner at the Weasley household. Only, she wasn't sure he'd actually heard her mother, when she asked. It seemed he was extra busy that day. Even so, his hastiness left a knot in her stomach. She wanted to talk to him, to know that he was all right. Their time together was drawing short with each day. It was important to Rose, to take advantage of what little time they had left.

That in mind, her attention drifted to the Two-Way Mirror. It was meant for later on, when she was back at Hogwarts. Though, she couldn't ignore the voice in her head that told her to use it right then and there.

Rose stared long into the mirror, realizing quickly that she had no idea how to use it. Would Draco feel some sort of alert or indication, when she tried contacting him? Or would it simply be of use when he, too, looked into the mirror? She had no idea. It was only when she had given up, seconds away from stowing the mirror under her pillow, that she noticed a pair of stormy grey eyes staring back at her.

It was difficult to tell in the dimness, but he looked to be in his home, with deep, dark colours and exposed brick, as opposed to the stark white of the hospital.

For a moment, her heart quickened, urging her to tell him how much she'd missed him and how excited she was, to see him later that morning. But the way he was looking at her, with mingled yearning and remorse, swept the smile from her lips faster than she could count. It was clear to her then, that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the knot in her stomach grew tighter.

Draco seemed to notice, because his next words shed light on the issue, and simultaneously broke her heart.

"I — I'm taking leave for the next couple of days," he explained, hiding the guilt in his eyes with as much indifference as he could muster. "Jenkins will take over my duties."

She blinked, unable to form a response.

"I — I think it's best we part ways," Draco furthered, glancing away from the mirror, as though he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes. "You'll be in school and I'll be — I'll be someplace else."

With each second and each word that left his lips, her eyelashes dampened. She tried to hide it, to mask the ache in her chest with acceptance, with the maturity of someone much older. But at the end of the day, she was still an ingenuous teenaged girl, whose heart was breaking.

Rose ignored the tears, choosing instead to look upon him with righteous anger. "You're kidding, right?"

Draco held the silence a moment longer, as though Rose's heart wasn't the only one breaking. "I'm afraid not."

It was in that moment, that she understood the situation. Draco had finally come to his senses. For about a week there, he had fooled her (and himself) into thinking he felt some sort of attachment towards her, but he had finally come to his senses and abandoned those misconstrued feelings. Her earlier suspicions about him had been right on target. It was foolish of her to think he harboured feelings for her. She was nothing but a distraction from the monotony of his daily life. The fact that he had flipped back and forth with such haste over the last week, attested to that.

Rose smiled through the tears, ignoring every urge that told her to toss the mirror across the room and watch it shatter into a million little pieces. She _would not_ break. She _would not_ suffer the humiliation. Never again.

"I should turn in," she voiced, holding composure for as long as she could. " — before Hilda catches me awake."

"Rose —"

"Goodbye, Healer Malfoy."

With that, the conversation was over.

Rose took the mirror and placed it on her side table, tugging the bed sheets to her chin, whilst forcing her eyes shut. She had to sleep. She had to close her eyes and see someone other than him. She couldn't keep crying. She had to forget about him, the way she forgot about Liam and all the others. It would do her no good to keep thinking about him; to dream about him; to remember the sound of his voice and his laugh and the protectiveness that would sweep over his eyes, wherever she was concerned.

Bearing all those feelings, she succumbed to the ache; unbeknownst to the fact that the mirror was still active; that Draco was still there; that he could hear her crying into the pillow; that it took every bit of strength he had, not to rush over there and substitute the pillow with his shoulders; that he had no choice; that his earlier indiscretions led them to this breaking point; that he would have given anything to be in there; to show her how much he loved her, and in how many ways.

If only.

* * *

><p><strong><em>One Day Later<em>**

**_10:49AM_**

The morning was bittersweet.

Rose sat there in her hospital gown, staring at the clothes laid out for her. She was to leave in about two hours. All she had to do was wait for Healer Jenkins to arrive and give her the thumbs up. It was a relief to know she'd recovered faster than anticipated, and that she was to be discharged earlier than planned.

Hilda came around quite often, making sure Rose was okay and that all the paperwork was sorted. Hermione handled the technical stuff, whilst Ron stayed back to keep his daughter company.

"Excited?" he asked, hands in his pockets.

She forced a smile. "Beyond excited."

Ron smiled back at her, looking through the window every now and then, as though he wished to say something but decided not to. Either that, or he learned the hard way, that wording meant everything where teenaged girls were concerned.

"So," he voiced, sitting on the corner of the bed, flipping through one of his daughter's textbooks with feigned interest. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Rose looked to him, slightly taken aback. "Sorry?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" he repeated, with intuition she never knew existed. "You — You seem off."

"Off?"

Ron scratched the back of his head; a nervous habit. "Upset, forlorn, glum, troubled, somber…I'd go on if I had a thesaurus, but I'd much rather know what's bothering you." He looked at her, layered with fatherly concern. "If it has to do with…with boys…or feminine things…I want you to know that you can still talk to me about it."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Er — it's really nothing. I just — I'm just stressed over school. That's all."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she lied, forcing the truth further down her throat. "But thanks for asking. It means a lot."

His expression wavered, as though he knew she'd lied to him, which could very well have been the case, considering his newfound intuition. But the moment he opened his mouth to put words behind that look, was the same moment Healer Jenkins entered the room to give Rose one last checkup.

Hermione entered about a minute later, and during this time, Rose noticed the look exchanged between her parents. It was clear to her, then, that Ron wasn't alone in his assessment of her recent change in mood.

As usual, her parents were onto her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>One Day Later<em>**

**_10:05PM _**

It was raining in London, but Draco didn't mind. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and hurried across the street, before pushing through the doors of the pub. Inside, there was a decent mix of people, but he didn't pay them much attention. Instead, he peered over their heads and found Blaise somewhere in the back, with a couple pints ready to go.

Draco weaved through the tables and made his way to the one in the back, resisting the urge to dry his clothes and hair using wandless magic, as they were currently in a Muggle establishment.

"You look a right mess," Blaise snorted, laughing at the state of his friend. "So, what was this emergency?"

"She knows," Draco voiced, plain and simple. "Astoria knows."

Blaise arched an eyebrow at him. "What are you talking about?"

The Healer breathed in and out, trying to level his nerves, before grabbing one of the beers and pounding it back as though it were water. Blaise stared at him, looking utterly gobsmacked.

"What does Astoria know?" he rephrased.

Draco took hold of the other beer and downed that one, too. After that, he simply sat there, waiting for the alcohol to influence him in some way, but it didn't. He remained sober, as though Merlin were punishing him for his actions.

"Oi," Blaise interjected, looking at him with concern. "Talk to me. What the bloody is going on, and how much will it cost to fix it?"

"It's unfixable," Draco found himself saying. "Astoria came 'round mine a couple nights ago, on our supposed anniversary, and — and she indirectly threatened to have my Healer certification revoked if I — if I don't comply with her wishes."

"_What?_"

"I know."

Blaise shook his head, drenched in disbelief. "That's bollocks. She can't do that."

Draco stared blankly into his empty pint glass. "She can."

"What does she have on you?"

"I'll give you one guess," the Healer mumbled, leaning back whilst rubbing the fatigue from his face. Going by the state of his hair and clothes, and the fact that he downed two beers within one minute — he was far from okay, and quite clearly hadn't slept in _days_. "It involves me, and Rose Weasley."

"Rose _Weasley?_" Blaise repeated, confused.

Draco glanced down, at the table. "Rose was a patient of mine. Came down with dragon pox about two weeks ago. She — She's the eldest daughter of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. I'm sure you remember them…"

"Sure, but what does she have to do with —"

"She's the one," Draco blurted. "She's the one I…the one I told you about the other night…the one I…fell for…"

Blaise pressed a fist to his mouth. "Fucking hell."

"I know."

"How the hell did that happen?"

"Does it matter? It's over. Astoria dug her claws into the situation, and I'm now in the palm of her hand…exactly where I started." Draco breathed out, slowly shaking his head. "You should have heard it, mate. You should have been there when I told Rose it was over. She cried all night…and I had to sit there and pretend I couldn't hear her. It was fucking devastating. I — I don't know what to do."

Blaise kept quite for a moment, weighing the situation from every angle before speaking "I don't mean to be insensitive, but how old is she?"

Draco glanced down. "She'll be eighteen in a month."

"So…she's above the age of consent," Blaise gathered. "…which means, the only thing Astoria has on you, is that you were romantically involved with one of your patients."

The blonde nodded. "Enough to get me sacked."

"Does she have any hard evidence?"

"None that I know of."

Blaise's face screwed. "Wait, then, what's the issue here? You've got nothing to worry about, if she can't prove you guilty."

"It's not about that," Draco broke through. "It's not about escaping another sentence to Azkaban. It's about — It's about Rose. I can't do this to her. I've already put her through so much. Even if I do take it to court and let's say, I do win the case, Rose's image will still be tarnished. People will still talk. It — It's going to turn into some sick, twisted horror story about me shagging one of my patients, when in reality, it's not like that at all. I've — I've barely touched her."

"Well, either way…you can't just sit around and let Astoria control you for the rest of your life."

"I'd rather do that, than have her drag an innocent girl's name through the mud."

Blaise watched him, knowingly. "You care about her."

"I don't give a single fuck about Ast —"

"I'm not talking about Astoria," his friend interjected. "I'm talking about…Rose. You care about her, a lot."

Draco glanced down. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," Blaise countered. "You can't let Astoria do this to you. You can't let her turn this into dirty gossip. You shouldn't even be here right now."

"Well, what do you propose I do?" he asked, sarcastically. "March over to Godric's Hollow and confess my love for Rose, on the front doorstep of her family's home?"

Blaise paused a moment, before nodding. "Actually, yes."

"Have you gone mad? Granger and Weasley are trained Aurors."

"Hold on. You were invited to theirs for dinner, weren't you?"

Draco half-nodded, unable to comprehend Blaise's train of thought. "Yeah, but it's for tomorrow…and I already told them I won't be able to make it."

"Go home, send them an owl, and tell them your schedule cleared up."

"But —"

"Do it," Blaise cut in. "You need to go there and tell them the truth."

"Mate —"

"It's the only way."

"You're insane."

Blaise shrugged. "Maybe I am, but I'm also aware that Gryffindors take this whole love thing very seriously. If you can prove to them that you love her, the way that you proved it to me not a moment ago, then there's nothing to worry about. Granger can be reasonable. You know that."

"Sure, but how does that help the Astoria situation?"

"I'll handle that," Blaise said to him, as though he knew something Draco didn't. "Now, I'm going to go grab us a couple more pints, and when I'm back, we're going to plan this out. Understood?"

Draco opened his mouth and then closed it, settling with a nod. It was clear to him, that Blaise wasn't going to budge. He sat alone and thought about it. Perhaps accepting Granger's invitation and attending dinner at Godric's Hollow wouldn't be a terrible idea. At most, he would convince Weasley and Granger that his feelings for their daughter were pure, and at the very least, he would get to see her one last time.

It wouldn't be easy, of course.

But he wasn't interested in _easy_.

**A/N: Thanks! Means a lot that you've made it this far. **


	13. Dinner at the Weasley's Part One

**A/N: Chapter Thirteen! **

**_6:45PM _**

Rose turned, in bed with her eyes closed, as music blared from her sound system. It was a Muggle sound system; something her father had to rig in order for it to work in their household, as electronic devices weren't built to function in the same vicinity as magic. Though, she wasn't thinking much about the sound system. It was the music playing from it that mattered to her, and the way each lyric filled the hole in her heart as though they were lines from her diary.

It was safe to assume she had never felt more like a teenager, than she did in that moment.

"_Dinner's ready!_" Hermione called out, from the foot of the stairs.

Rose breathed in and out. It was her last night at home, before returning to Hogwarts — and although she loved both her parents dearly, she couldn't wait to leave Godric's Hollow. It seemed neither Hermione nor Ron were fooled by their daughter's act. They knew, through some strange intuition, that something about her had changed. It wasn't fair having trained Aurors for parents. She couldn't get anything past them. Not one thing. But worst of all, was knowing she couldn't tell them what was bothering her, even if she wanted to.

That was the price she had to pay, for lying to them.

She had to keep lying.

She had to keep smiling, and keep acting, and keep pretending as though there wasn't an inconsolable void in her chest, where her heart should have been.

Suddenly, she felt horrible for the manner in which she had broken up with Liam. Granted, he didn't love her and treated her horribly at times, but she had still left him broken hearted, with minimal reason for doing so. It was a tough conversation to have, but necessary. Even before the…other things…she had known, deep down, that things weren't going to work out with her then-boyfriend. It wasn't so much him, as it was her. She had changed. She wasn't the same girl who had fawned over him the year before. For lack of better words, she had simply outgrown the relationship, and part of her felt as though Liam knew that.

Perhaps that was the reason he didn't fight for the relationship.

Either way, her thoughts drifted from him, to the sound of footsteps.

Rose faced the door, and found her mother standing there. "You're dressed fancy," she remarked. "What's the occasion?"

Hermione glanced down at her skirt and blouse, before clearing her throat a little. "We have company."

"Company?" her daughter repeated, as though the word was poison to her ears. "Really? On my last night?"

The brunette nodded, looking awfully stern for someone who supposedly broke a lot of rules in her day. "Go on. Get dressed and meet us downstairs in fifteen minutes." She made motion to leave, before catching sight of the mess of clothes on the floor. "And while you're at it, tidy up around here."

Rose groaned into her pillow. "_Mum_."

"Get a move on," Hermione furthered, holding the conviction in her stance, until she caught sight of the crumpled tissues on and around the bed. From there, her expression wavered between sternness and worry, landing on the latter. "Liam is always welcome to join us. You know that, don't you?"

"Wh —" Rose faced the door, perplexed. It took about five seconds, for her to follow her mother's line of vision, taking note of the tissues. "Oh."

Hermione entered the bedroom, sitting with her daughter on the foot of the bed. "There's nothing wrong with changing your mind," she told her. "I — I realize our earlier discussion probably left you under the impression that I wasn't fond of Liam, but he was a nice boy. If you want to get back together with him…know that you have mine and your father's full support."

Rose scratched the back of her head. "I…" It was the perfect scapegoat. She felt a little foolish, for having not thought of it on her own.

"Would you like to invite him for dinner?" Hermione asked.

"No —" Rose quickly blurted, without thinking. "I mean _no, thank you_. It — It would be too painful to see him again," she voiced, feeling terribly guilty for lying, but at the same time, knowing she had no choice. "I — I just — I don't know if I can be in the same room as him so soon. It — It's too fresh."

Hermione looked to her daughter, knowingly. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course," she reaffirmed. "Sometimes it's better to wait, to let some time pass and to grow as an individual, before reopening those doors."

Rose glanced down. "What if the door is locked?" she asked, asking before she could stop herself; before she had the time to make sense of the feelings coursing through her veins. "What if the door doesn't want to be opened? What if I don't have the key anymore? What if I lost it? What if I never had the stupid thing to begin with? What if…I…if…"

Hermione blinked, discerningly. "Darling, are we still talking about Liam?"

"Liam? What —" The young witch froze, catching the look in her mother's eyes and forcing herself to look elsewhere. "Of course, we're talking about Liam. I — I've never dated anyone but him."

"It's okay to date around," her mother offered, delicately. "I've dated men other than your father."

Rose looked to her, face screwed. "Really? But you married him fresh out of Hogwarts. How many men could you have possibly dated before him?"

Hermione opened her mouth, thinking, before shrugging it off. "Okay, so I went on _one _date with _one_ other boy when I was _fourteen_ — but my point still stands," she inserted, reflecting the look of amusement on Rose's face, before drawing back. "I didn't get the impression that you were all that distraught over Liam until a few days ago. Your father figures the delay is normal, given your age and the fact that you were the one to call it off, but…I don't know, Rose. Correct me if I'm mistaken, but things with Liam were never serious for you, were they?"

The young woman glanced through her bedroom window, knowing lack of eye contact would only confirm the suspicions racing through her mother's head. "You're right," she uttered, sitting there, as her defences fell apart. "I — this isn't about Liam."

"But it _is _about a boy?" Hermione asked, carefully.

Rose kept quiet, resisting the urge to continue. She couldn't continue. She couldn't further the line of conversation without revealing the truth, and she _absolutely could not_ _do that_.

Hermione watched in silence, as though waiting for her daughter to go on and explain the situation. When nothing was said, she settled for the next best thing, and drew her daughter in for a tight hug, combing through her hair, calmingly, as her own mother used to do. "You'll be okay," she said to her, with unwavering certainty. "Whatever it is that's troubling you, please know that you can always talk to me. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, whether I'm on a mission, at the office, or at home. I will always be there for you. I…I know what it's like to have a stern mother, who doesn't quite understand what it means to be vulnerable, but I don't want to be that way for you, or for your brother. I'll never judge you for your mistakes or your hardships. Please know that."

Having listened, with a trickle of moisture clinging to her lower lash line, it took every last shred of strength Rose could muster, to keep from reaching her boiling point. She couldn't keep lying. Though, she wouldn't have to keep lying, once she returned to Hogwarts. There, she could talk to Albus about everything. There, she wouldn't have to look her parents in the eyes, day after day, knowing she had betrayed their trust.

Sometimes, it was difficult being Gryffindor.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thirty Minutes Later<em>**

It took extra time, for her to shower and dry her hair and change into nice, presentable clothes. Her usual ensemble of jeans and a t-shirt was, for some reason, unacceptable. Bearing that in mind, she stood in front of her mirror, wearing the cute but conservative dress her mother laid out for her, whilst feeling like a complete knob. She hated dresses. Though, her preference for trousers and loose-fitted clothing simply would not suffice. She didn't quite understand the big deal behind dressing up for company, but she similarly didn't have the patience to question such customs.

Rose took one last look in the mirror, untying the ribbon that held her hair in place, and opting instead to wear her tight red curls naturally, down to her elbows. It was a decent compromise, and something her mother would just have to live with. Without another moment to waste, she slipped into a pair of classic black flats and descended the staircase, leading into the main area of the house.

It smelled wonderful.

Meaning, her father had most definitely been the one to cook.

Good.

If she had to endure another boring dinner party, _with company_, then she at least reserved the right to stuff her face and have a decent meal, after two weeks on hospital food. Mildly comforted by that, Rose headed straight for the kitchen, where she presumed her father would be, and on the way, caught sight of an unfamiliar coat and scarf hanging near the front door. She glanced in all directions, making sure the coast was clear, before inching closer to the black trench coat. It was Burberry, and smelled of cologne. Not an offensive heavy scented cologne, but a light…masculine…refreshing cologne.

For some reason, she moved closer to the coat, leaning towards it, sucking in a lungful of that scent. It smelled _good_. It smelled so good that she had to remind herself the owner was in the same vicinity, and could quite possibly walk in at any moment and catch her getting off on his scent.

Cringing at the thought of Professor Longbottom or even her Uncle Harry in that role, she reluctantly left the foyer and entered the kitchen. Only, her father wasn't there, and neither was the food.

"_Rose,_" her mother called out, from the dining room. "_In here, love._"

Suddenly hungry, and a tiny bit grumpy _because_ she was hungry, the young witch followed the sound of her mother's voice and casually took a seat at the table, without looking around. In the background, she heard clinking silverware and some innocent smalltalk, accented with her mother's laugh and the sound of her father's grumbling stomach.

"So, _Gabrielle_ here is Fleur Delacour's younger sister," Hermione explained, making introductions. "I'm sure you remember them from the Tournament in our Fourth Year. _Ron _certainly does," she added, shooting her husband a kind, but sharp look. "Isn't that so, Ronald?"

The man cleared his throat, tilting back some red wine. "Y — Yes. I do seem to recall Harry saving Gabrielle during the Second Task," he added, trying to ease the tension. "Talk about a saviour complex, am I right?"

Hermione nudged him under the table. "Anyway, Gabrielle mentioned she would be in town for London Fashion Week, and I thought it would be nice to introduce the both of you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you haven't had the chance to make formal acquaintance, have you?"

"_We have not,_" Gabrielle answered, rather airily, with the added touch of an adorable French accent. "_It is a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Malfoy._"

Within that same second, the silverware slipped from Rose's fingertips and clattered down on her empty plate, disrupting the conversation as she fixed her attention on _the company. _On one side of the table was her mother, next to a woman by the name of Gabrielle. Rose knew Gabrielle as Aunt Fleur's younger sister, and saw her on occasion, but never in her own home. From what she knew, Gabrielle was involved in the fashion industry and worked for some hot-shot French designer. That night, she was dressed in a slightly revealing, but tasteful black dress, and wore her hair in sleek, golden pin curls. Suffice it to say, she looked like someone out of a magazine.

Rose glanced down at her own dress, feeling even more foolish than before. Though, nothing compared to the swirling sensation that traveled through her centre, as her eyes drifted to the other dinner guest. She couldn't decide which was worse: the fact that Gabrielle was already undressing him with her eyes, or the fact that _her own parents_ had arranged it.

"If you'll excuse me," Rose blurted, pushing back from the table. "I — I'm not feeling well."

Hermione looked to her daughter, startled. "Oh, don't go just yet. I haven't had the chance to tell Gabrielle about how wonderful it was, having Draco as your Healer." She glanced back at the French woman. "Truly, he was the most dedicated physician I've ever met — and as an Auror, Merlin knows I have met quite a few."

Gabrielle nodded along, eating it up. "_How very fortunate. If I may be so bold as to ask, what exactly did young Rose have?_"

"French bitch," Rose mumbled under her breath, catching everyone's eyes from across the table. Her face blanched. "Er —"

"Foot in mouth disease," Ron quickly inserted, standing from his chair and motioning for Rose to meet him in the kitchen. "Pardon me. I'll be back in a moment. Just have to check on dessert. Rose, why don't you come and help me?"

With no objections, she followed her father out of the dining room and into the kitchen, where he instantly held her in place and took one hard look into her mouth, keeping a loose grip on her jaw.

She thought to ask what he was doing, but he cut her off.

"Well, it doesn't look like there's a miniature sailor lodged in your throat," he quipped, releasing her. "So, why the foul language?"

Rose sighed, having neither the appetite nor the patience, to deal with what was going on in the other room. "Sorry," she offered. "I just — It makes no sense that I have to be there, whilst Mum plays matchmaker."

"Is that what this is about?" Ron asked, putting two and two together. "You don't think Healer Malfoy is good enough for Gabrielle?"

"_What? _No!" she blurted, again, seriously wondering if there was a cork big enough for her mouth. "I mean…I don't know. It doesn't matter." She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, before looking at her father. "May I please be excused? I'm not hungry anymore."

He scrunched his mouth. "If you really aren't feeling well, maybe it would be wise for Healer Malfoy to have a look at you. The last thing I want is for you to go back to school, when you haven't fully recovered."

Rose looked to the window, wondering how much damage it would do to her, if she tossed herself through it. Of course, she would be forced to take the Knight Bus to her next destination, as she didn't have a broomstick and her brother wasn't there to fly her on his. But she was prepared to take a dozen Knight Busses to escape the wizarding edition of 'Matchmaker' taking place in the dining room.

"You know what?" the young witch finally said, facing her father. "I'm fine. Just feeling a bit loopy. It must be a side effect of the prescription potion."

Ron looked to his daughter. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, feeling this was best. "I'll be out in a second. You go on, before Mum has a fit."

Naturally, he didn't look at all convinced, but there were guests waiting in the other room and no time to waste. Ron offered his daughter another look of fatherly concern, before leaving the kitchen. Only then, did she turn around and grasp the base of the sink, taking deep breaths. Thankfully, the window above the sink was open, providing fresh air and enough cold to counterbalance her rising temperature.

She closed her eyes, feeling utterly ridiculous.

It didn't matter to her.

It shouldn't have mattered.

The fact that she had reacted at all (in front of everyone, no less) was a close second to the time she vomited in the Great Hall, as the most mortifying experience of her life.

"Rose?"

"I'll be out _in a minute_," she snapped. "Just leave me al —"

Her words cut short, and her eyes shot open. She knew that voice. Though her back was turned to the door, she could see his reflection in the window. He stood about six or seven feet behind her, hovering there, in the dimness of the kitchen.

With each second that passed, the knot in her chest tightened, to the point that she couldn't speak even if she wanted to.

"Weas — Your father asked me to check up on you," Draco explained. "He said you were feeling ill."

She held her position, in an attempt to hide the quiver of her bottom lip. "I — I feel fine. Thanks."

"Rose —"

"You don't want to keep Gabrielle waiting," she interjected, bitingly. "Just a friendly piece of advice, because from what I've heard, she isn't the type to sit around and wait for a man's mood to swing in her favour."

Draco looked at her, taken aback.

After that, his approach came suddenly.

Rose gripped tighter on the base of the sink, squeezing her eyes shut, in an attempt to drown her thoughts and have a clear mind. But the next second, he was near her, hovering about six inches from her side, where she caught a whiff of his cologne. For a moment, the tension in her muscles relaxed — only to reverse as Draco leaned closer to her.

She breathed in, shaking a little.

"Turn around for me," he whispered. "Let me see you, Rose."

Her eyes slowly opened, falling into rhythm with her body, as she turned it towards him. Though it went against everything she promised herself over the last couple days, she couldn't ignore the flutter in her chest.

Rose fixed her attention to the tiled flooring, breathing in and out, nice and even, knowing his eyes were on her. For the first time since she was admitted to the hospital, he saw her in something other than those unflattering hospital gowns. In the back of her mind, she was a little relieved her mother had insisted on the dress.

Without uttering another word, the Healer brushed his fingertips along the inside of his blazer, and withdrew his wand of ten inches and hawthorn, to slowly and carefully check her vitals, as her father had asked him to do. In a bit of a daze, Rose stood there, and allowed him to graze the fabric of her dress with the tip of his wand: along her back, over her heart, around her neck, and down the column of her throat. With a delicate motion, he used the tip of his wand to widen the gap between her lips. She knew it was standard procedure, and that he needed to see the inside of her mouth, but when she should have made that unflattering _ahhh_ sound, she instead released a single quivering breath, and watched as the sound of it brought colour to his ivory complexion.

His wand clattered into the empty sink.

Rose couldn't breathe, or move, or do anything that could possibly unsettle him enough, that he would leave her — again. She hated herself for it, but seeing him again brought those feelings close to the surface, where he could see the humiliation and the yearning and the anger…and beneath it all, the affection.

In that moment, Draco tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing his hand to brush the side of her cheek. Without meaning to, she leaned into it, breathing in and out, quietly, as though the smallest sound would alert the others as to what was going on.

It lasted like that for another thirty or so seconds, before the distant sound of laughter dragged them back to reality. Rose tensed, feeling her eyes slam shut, as Draco reached around her and lifted his wand from the sink. In the seconds that followed, he retreated an appropriate distance, unaware of the thoughts racing through her head.

For a moment there, she felt as though he was going to do something — to take back the things he had said and sweep her up in his arms for another full bodied kiss. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon, because he meant what he said about moving on.

Rose held onto that frustration, and tossed him an angered look, before stepping around him and leaving the kitchen. It wasn't fair that he could do that to her; that he could show up and make her all flustered without evening trying. She balled her hands into fists, and continued on her path, reaching as far as the corridor, before it happened.

Again, the distant sound of laughter filled her ears, mingled with the drum in her chest, as Draco met her in the darkened corridor.

"Rose, I…"

She turned, coming face to face with him, flattening her back to the wall, as their silhouettes became one. For whatever reason, she remained where she was and felt that same sweeping sensation in her core, as he neared, using the bud of his thumb to gently part her lips. Without a moment to waste, he leaned in and kissed her.

Rose whimpered in response, opening her mouth to him _because that was the natural thing to do, _and opening her body to him _because how could she not?_

"I'm sorry," he whispered, directly over her lips. "I made a mistake. It was foolish of me to think, for even a second, that I could let go of this — that I could let go of _you_."

She breathed in, carefully, aware that there were three other people not too far from the corridor. Namely, that two of them were her parents.

"Just — Just tell me what you want," Rose said to him, loud enough that he could hear, but faint enough that no one else could. "Because I — I'm tired of trying to fill in the blanks on my own. I need you to be honest with me."

Draco said nothing, at first, choosing instead to kiss her again. This time, in a much deeper, much less inhibited fashion. "I want you," he voiced, plain and simple. "I want us."

Her inner flame burned for him, fanned to life by his words.

Just then, another set of footsteps came towards them, from the kitchen. As if on cue, Draco released her, and she quickly lit one of the hanging torches with the flick of her wand, illuminating the corridor under its orange glow. Now standing an appropriate distance apart, the pair of them turned to see that Hermione had entered the corridor.

"_Oh_, there you are." The brunette approached them, smiling. "Come, we've just opened a bottle of wine."

Rose turned away, hoping to hide the residual colour on her cheeks, whilst her mother ushered them out of the corridor and into the dining room. She followed a couple steps behind, taking deep breaths, trying to comprehend everything that happened in the last few minutes — during which time, the three of them took their seats at the table. Still a little dazed, it took her two or three seconds to realize that Draco had tucked something into her hand, as he made his way around the room, to his chair.

Without looking, she knew what it was.

_Parchment. _

But the moment she thought to have a discreet look under the table, to read whatever was written on the parchment, there was a sound from the other end.

Rose glanced up to find Gabrielle sinking her teeth into _Monsieur Malfoy_.

"_I do not know if it this too forward of me to say, but I feel a divine compulsion towards you,_" the golden blonde said to him, twirling a loose strand of hair around her manicured index finger. "_You must be part Veela._"

Draco cleared his throat, uncomfortably. "Thank you," he inserted, looking whiter than usual. "But I, er, I don't believe I have Veela ancestry."

Gabrielle softened a bit. "_Oh?_" she voiced, unable to speak so much as one syllable without bathing it in her beautiful French accent. "_I only ask because I, myself, am part Veela._"

Rose somehow resisted the urge to vomit, comforted by the fact that Draco looked just as unamused. Sure, she had only known him a couple of weeks, but she had learned enough about him and his mannerisms, to know that he didn't respond well to tawdry tactics.

Sensing Draco's disinterest, the hostess made quick work of redirecting the topic of the conversation, mentioning something about Gabrielle wanting to attend a show on the West End, and hinting hard that Draco should take her. Again, his response was lukewarm at best. It carried on like that for another hour, before Ron cleared his throat and uttered four words that Rose had been waiting to hear all evening.

"How about some dessert?"

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! I'm splitting the dinner into three parts. This was the first, and the second should be up relatively fast. Make sure to tell me your thoughts! **


	14. Dinner at the Weasley's Part Two

**A/N: Chapter Fourteen!**

**_9:20PM _**

Somehow, hours had passed since he entered the Weasley household, and for some reason, he wasn't having as horrible a time as he had imagined. It was difficult at first, as he had been forced to entertain the possibility of taking Gabrielle Delacour on some sort of date, but the chances of that happening were squashed as soon as dessert arrived. From there, the dinner party moved to the lounge, where Hermione engaged Gabrielle in conversation about her work in France, whilst Ron cracked open a bottle of fire whiskey, pouring two glasses and handing one to him.

"Cheers," Draco nodded, before taking a necessary sip. Instantly, the liquor worked to detangle the nerves that had been building in his gut. For some reason, he had gone into the dinner, expecting Weasley to treat him with some level of hostility, but the red-haired wizard seemed rather fair-minded, clearly having grown since their school days.

Ron tilted back a good portion of his glass, before sitting on one of the arm chairs. "I hope you don't mind," he started. "Hermione insisted on inviting Gabrielle."

Draco had suspected as much. "It's no problem. She's — She a nice girl," he managed to say. "But I — er — I don't know if — I don't want to — I'm not sure the fit is right."

"No need to explain," the man assured him. "I thought to give you a heads up earlier on, but Nurse Hilda mentioned you were on leave."

"Right, yeah." Draco tried not to think about it, but his thoughts eventually drifted to Rose, and the obstacle that was Astoria. "Some personal matters needed tending to," he explained, drinking casually from the fire whiskey, despite the tension in his gut. "Just a few odds and ends."

Ron nodded along. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask," he cut in, straightening his posture. "What are your thoughts on the Chudley Cannons?"

Draco looked to him, momentarily perplexed until he caught sight of the black and orange wall hangings behind the wizard; some sort of Quidditch team logo, with two black C's and a speeding cannonball in the centre. He cleared his throat, knowingly. "I — er — I'm a big fan."

"Really?" Weasley asked, brightening up a bit. "I've never met another fan before!"

_You don't say. _

"Just imagine if I'd actually proposed the cannon-head club in school," the man continued. "We might actually have been friends! Ha."

Draco forced out a similar reaction, taking careful sips of fire whiskey. For a moment, he was relieved that Granger and Weasley had changed their opinion of him, but he couldn't rejoice just yet. _If things go as planned, they're going to get the biggest shock of their lives. _With that, his eyes drifted to the framed photographs along the mantel. Some were family portraits, and some were candid shots. One in particular caught his attention. It was one of Hermione, holding a newborn Rose in her arms. The former can't have been a day older than eighteen. _Second biggest_, he corrected, nodding along as Ron talked endlessly about the Chudley Cannons, and how he managed to snag tickets to their next match for only a few Galleons.

* * *

><p><strong><em>9:45PM<em>**

Rose finished washing the dishes by hand, having convinced her mother that she was healthy enough to do so. Doing housework wasn't normally her favourite thing to do, but she hoped her parents would remember how readily she had cleaned the table and done the washing. Merlin knew she needed them in high spirits that night. Though, judging by the amount of wine they had consumed at dinner, that wouldn't be a problem.

"_Excusez-moi,_" Gabrielle voiced, having just entered the kitchen. "_I did not mean to disturb you, but I was hoping to talk._"

"Er —" Rose turned around, started. "Sure…" she managed to say. "Just — Just one moment." She faced the sink, charming the rest of the dishes to wash on their own, before wiping her hands on a towel.

From there, the pair of them sat at the kitchen table, nibbling on some extra dessert. It was her father's specialty. Classic carrot cake, with decorative iced carrots on top. Rose took a moment to enjoy her second slice, before realizing that Gabrielle had said something.

"_You are infatuated with Monsieur Malfoy, no?_"

Rose choked on her cake. "I — I beg your pardon?"

Gabrielle smiled at her, knowingly. "_Veela are able to sense attraction between all living creatures,_" she explained. "_The moment you sat at the dinner table, I sensed an increase in your temperature, as well as that of Monsieur Malfoy. At first, I thought nothing of it, but when you returned to the table together, I caught scent of your pheromones. I tried hinting it to both of you, when asking Monsieur Malfoy if he was part Veela, but…_"

The young witch tensed, feeling the blood race from her heart, to both her cheeks. At that point, she was sure her skin was as red as her hair.

"_Oh, please do not be alarmed…_" Gabrielle inserted, rather quickly. "_I have no interest in interfering with the affairs of others. I simply wanted you to know that I do not wish to pursue Monsieur Malfoy._" She tilted her head a little. "_Though, I do have to give your mother kudos for her efforts. If, for some reason, Monsieur Malfoy was not involved with another, and I did not prefer the company of women, then perhaps…_"

Rose felt her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, I had no idea you were…erm…"

Gabrielle laughed delicately. "_Yes, well, not many people do._"

"Are you…out?" the younger witch asked, tentatively.

"_I am neither in, nor out…_" Gabrielle shrugged, blanketing herself along the back of the chair. "_I simply live and love, and others should do the same._"

Suddenly, Rose was drowning in guilt over her earlier judgments regarding the French woman. "I completely agree," she offered, speaking with the utmost sincerity. "It's too bad society is bound by heteronormative culture, and…and…_"_

_"…and age,_" Gabrielle finished, smiling again, but this time, with a brush of empathy. "_Falling in deep, passionate love is rare enough. One should not have to mould that love to outdated belief systems._"

Rose nodded, rapidly. "You took the words right out of my mouth._"_

Gabrielle looked to her, as though she sensed the nerves racing through the young girl (which, she probably did, given the whole Veela thing). "_Do you plan on telling your parents?_"

"I'd like to," the girl sighed, running both hands through her hair. "I just — I'm afraid they won't understand."

"_It certainly will not be easy,_" Gabrielle offered. "_…but the simple fact that you are willing to try, in spite of that, means the love you share with your beau is as substantial as the love your parents share with one another. Something tells me they will slowly come to realize that, and when they do, make sure to send a wedding invitation my way,_" she winked.

Rose smiled nervously, hiding the tension in her gut. She had not given a moment of thought towards marriage — which was believable, considering her age. Though…the idea of spending forever with the blonde in the other room didn't frighten her half as much as it should have.

Even so, she was not ready to think about those matters. There was still her parents' approval to consider, which happened to be the biggest obstacle, but not the only one. Having read what was written on the parchment, she learned the details of Draco's situation. Namely, the reason he had 'broken up' with her, and the reason he had changed his mind. It would probably have been wiser for him to tell her those things face to face, in case anyone got a hold of the letter, but he did mention somewhere in the bottom, that the reason he wrote her was _on the off chance _they would never again cross paths. He wanted her to know the full truth, regardless of the evening's outcome.

"_Now, I'm afraid I must take my leave…_" Gabrielle mentioned, brushing the tips of her fingers over her pin curls, before rising from the chair. "_It was a pleasure speaking with you._"

Rose followed her lead, standing. "Likewise. I — er — I want to apologize for my behaviour at the table."

Gabrielle brushed the issue aside. "_Not to worry,_" she assured her. "_I would have reacted similarly, if the love of my life were matched with someone else._" With that, she smiled again. "_Good luck, Rose. Though, judging by the way Monsieur could not tear his eyes away from you at the dinner table, you may not need luck._"

"Thank you," Rose smiled, genuinely. "But — erm — I'm thinking I'll need all the luck the universe has to offer, since, well, both my parents are trained Aurors."

With that, that pair of them broke out into silent laughter, returning to the lounge side-by-side. There, Gabrielle thanked Ron and Hermione for the dinner invite, and bade Draco farewell, too, before leaving through the front door.

Finally, it was time.

* * *

><p><strong><em>10:00PM<em>**

Draco glanced down at the time on his wristwatch. It was getting late, and although neither Ron nor Hermione gave him the impression they wished for him to leave, he was beginning to feel a little tight around the collar. It could have been the result of drinking two glasses of fire whiskey. Or, it could have been his inner nerves scratching to the surface. He figured it was both, and declined the next glass.

Instead, he retreated to the kitchen for some water; startled to find Granger near the sink, inspecting the freshly washed dishes.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps, offering him a cordial smile, whilst motioning to the corridor. "Bathroom is first door from the left."

"Er —" he froze, contemplating what to say next, before settling with a nod of thanks.

From there, he bowed out of the kitchen and into the darkened corridor. It was beginning to feel as though he would never gather enough courage to have the talk — but he had no choice.

Draco entered the bathroom, knowing in his heart that he had to be brave. It didn't come naturally to him, as a pureblooded Slytherin, but Rose was counting on his bravery, on his integrity. It wasn't about him. It was about her. He would do it for her.

"_Hey, it's me…_" Rose interjected, whispering to him on the side of the door. "_Open this thing._"

He swallowed. "Er —"

"_Hurry up. Before they see me._"

Without further convincing, he unlocked the door, surprised as the young woman raced inside and closed the door, pressing it shut with her back. Draco blinked, taken aback by the heat that danced across her eyes.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Your parents are —"

Rose launched at him, as she did that one night in the hospital, wrapping both legs around his lower torso and bringing their mouths together for a swift, heated kiss. Startled, it took him a moment to find his balance, during which time he collided with the opposite wall, struggling to control his natural urges, whilst steadily aware that it was a bit too late for that.

She moaned, silently, desperately, tightening her legs. "I'm tired of waiting for this…"

Draco moved them to the sink, placing her on the edge of the basin. "Rose, we…we can't do this right now…" he murmured, separating from her, despite every urge in his body begging him not to. "I want to but…but now is not the time…"

"You…want to?" she repeated, looking up at him with moist-eyed wonder.

"Yes," he confessed, cheeks and neck aflame. "Of course, I want to."

Rose bit the inside of her bottom lip, chest rising and falling, slowly, but with purpose. "Do you remember that night, when you applied the cream to me?" she asked, softly. "I…I had a dream about you that night. I…I had a dream that…that you…that you rubbed that cream…all over me…"

His body tensed. His eyes fell between them, to her knees, as they quivered an inch or two apart. "Rose…" Draco said, again, looking to admonish her risqué behaviour, but instead leaning into her. His hands grasped the edge of the sink, on either side of her, and in the next second, he brushed his lips along her neck.

She dangled her head to the side, breathing deeply, as he kissed down the column of her throat. "Who knows…if we'll ever…get the chance to…do this again…"

Slowly, he brought the kiss to the sensitive area of her neck, directly over her pulse, using one hand to comb through her hair, and the other to trace circles over her knee. She melted into that, into the various sensations he provided.

Rose moaned again; this time from a deeper, less inhibited place, widening the space between her knees with each second that passed. Before either of them could think long enough to process it, he was situated between her legs, with his hand now grazing the skin of her upper thigh. She arched her back towards him, grazing her centre against his.

Draco thought to stop her, to escape the bathroom and return home for a cold, cold shower — but he didn't. Instead, his focus drifted to the blissful waves rippling through Rose's body.

"You're beautiful," he whispered to her, bringing his kiss to her lips, if only to silence the sounds coming from her mouth. "…and although it pains me to say this…we have to stop…"

Within that same second, her body tensed.

"I'm sorry," Draco quickly inserted, tucking the hair from her face. "But I — I want to do this the proper way, without having to hide."

Rose looked at him, breathing heavily. "Damn you for being all noble," she grumbled, hopping off of the sink as he moved away. "Fine. If we're going to do this the proper way, then we might as well do it right now."

"R — Right now?" he repeated, swallowing hard.

She nodded, straightening her clothes and hair in front of the mirror, before looking at him, through the reflection. "Don't worry. I'm pretty good at the shield charm. If my dad tries anything, I'll have your back."

He looked at her with animated disdain.

Rose couldn't help but laugh. "You wait here."

"For how long?"

She shrugged, facing him. "Just enough that they won't suspect we were in here together."

Draco nodded, once, pushing the nerves further down his throat. In the next moment, Rose stood on the tips of her toes and placed a swift peck on his lips, before curving her hand around the doorknob.

Within seconds, she was gone.

* * *

><p><strong><em>One Minute Later<em>**

Rose entered the lounge, walking in on her parents, as they opened another bottle of wine. Slightly thankful for that, she brought her hands together, in one ball, and proceeded to the centre of the room.

"Mum…Dad…"

Their eyes drifted to her, as she cleared her throat, realizing quickly that she should have planned this out better — or at all. It wasn't entirely her fault. Up until a couple hours ago, she had no idea having 'the talk' would even be necessary, seeing as Draco took it upon himself to change his mind about their situation every other day.

"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, sensing her daughter's unease.

Rose levelled her thoughts, breathing deeply, before looking at them. "I — I have to talk to you about something," she started. "Both of you."

Her father opened his mouth in an attempt to voice his thoughts, but his efforts were interrupted, as someone else entered the room.

She glanced back, and found Draco standing near the doorway, looking as though he were seconds from vomiting all over the hardwood floor. But he held back, and she knew, deep down, that he did it for her. Everything he had endured for the past two weeks, was for her.

Suddenly, his indecision didn't seem half as bad as before.

But she didn't think long on it, as the next words came from his mouth.

"_We _need to talk to you," he inserted, looking swiftly to Rose and then to her parents.

Hermione rose from the armchair, worried lines streaking her forehead. "Has the dragon pox worsened?" she asked, looking to her daughter with incalculable concern. Without waiting for a response, she rushed to Rose and placed the back of her hand on her daughter's forehead. "Oh, my sweet girl. I should have come home sooner."

"Mum —" Rose interjected, swatting her mother's hand away. "Stop it. I'm fine."

"Well, then, what's the matter?" Hermione asked, staring between Draco and Rose, with honest confusion. "Does it have to do with Gabrielle? I tried convincing her to stay, but —"

Draco cleared his throat, ridden with anxiety, as he stepped further into the room, reaching as far as Rose's side, before she followed his line of vision, realizing her father was staring straight at the Healer.

It was difficult to discern the look in his eyes, but the longer he stared, the more his daughter's hands trembled.

"Will someone explain to me what's going on?" the brunette asked, turning on her heel, looking from one person to the next. "Say _something_."

Rose swallowed — hard. "Mum…Dad…" she started, squeezing her hands into fists, in attempt to keep them from shaking so damned hard. "I — I — I know this may come as a shock to you, but — but — but —" Her words fell short, and she glanced down, noticing Draco had laced his hand with hers, bringing her shakes to an abrupt halt.

He held her hand.

In front of her parents.

She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, knowing in her core that this would either be the start or the end of something she would never forget. About three seconds later, she opened her eyes and slowly, as the pressure in the room increased, she looked to her parents.

Hermione took a few steps back, clutching the pearls around her neck. "I…I…" She had no words. Instead, she focused on the sight of her daughter's hand in the Healer's. She blinked, time and time again, as though the action of doing so would snap her out of this nightmare, and back to reality.

Somewhere near the fireplace, seated on his favourite armchair, was Rose's father. Unlike his wife, his expression didn't change, and his eyes remained locked on Draco. Slowly, he rose from the chair and walked with hardened purpose, past his wife and to the centre of the room, reaching as far as three feet from the secret couple, before clenching his jaw.

"Get out," he demanded.

Rose tightened her hold on Draco's hand. "Dad —"

"Get _out_," Ron said again, refusing to acknowledge his daughter.

Hermione remained silent, choosing instead to look at Rose with sweeping disappointment. It was staggering. Until that point, Rose had never earned a reaction like that from her mother; filled to the brim with distrust and the worst kind of betrayal, as though she couldn't recognize her daughter.

Tears collected in and around Rose's eyes. "Please, hear us — "

Ron balled his right hand into a fist, glaring daggers at the Healer. "Get the hell out of my house, before I —"

"She's a _teenaged_ girl — " Hermione inserted, looking to Draco with eyes as wide as they could stretch.

" — have the entire Auror Department toss you into Azkaban where you be—"

" — an innocent, helpless —

" — scum of the —"

" — invited you into our —"

" — once a snake, always a sn —"

"Listen to me!" Rose exclaimed, breathing hard. "Please…I…" She released several expulsions of air, unable to form the words. It was worse than she imagined. "If you could just sit down and…and…"

Draco squeezed her hand, ever so slightly, before releasing it.

She looked to him, hurt and then confused and then worried, as her mother stepped forth and gifted him with a tight slap across the face. Suddenly, the tables were turned and Hermione was enraged, having reached her boiling point. "How could you!" she shouted, making motion to slap him again, before her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulders, restraining her. "She's a child!"

Rose panicked, staring between Hermione and Draco, moving to the latter and cupping his cheek, where the reddish imprint of her mother's hand was beginning to bruise.

"I'm so sorry," the girl quickly said to him, helpless to fix the situation and to salvage whatever she could. "I — I —"

Draco brushed her hand away, though the look in his eyes told her he didn't want to. "Not now."

Somewhere along the line, Hermione escaped her husband's clutches and raced to the centre of the room again. She pointed her finger at Draco, with a sharp, deadly look in her eyes. "If I find out you've touched her in any way, so help me Merlin, I will beat your ferret arse to the —"

"_Mum_," Rose interjected. "Stop it! Everyone stop it!"

The entire room focused on her.

She looked to each one of them, tears streaming down her face. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It wasn't supposed to take such an unstable, contentious, violent turn.

Rose breathed in and out, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to calm the beat of her heart, and combat her rise in temperature. Unlike what happened at the table, she was sure those changes were not the symptoms of being in love, but rather, the symptoms of her illness; from which she hadn't fully recovered.

Suddenly…it was hot and blurry, and the floor was moving.

Without warning, her knees went wobbly.

The young witch stumbled backwards, tripping over her feet and falling hard to the floor. Luckily, her right ankle was there to break her fall. She winced, victim to the sharp, shooting pain. Within moments, she was seeing stars, struggling to keep her eyes open, as voices called out to her.

All three of them rushed to where she had fallen, but only one of them reached her side.

She blinked. "Draco…I…"

"I know," he voiced only to her, seconds before she blacked out. "I do, too."

_**To be continued...**_

**A/N: Maaaaaan. I wonder what's going to happen next. **


	15. Dinner at the Weasley's Part Three

**A/N: Chapter Fifteen! Short one. **

**_10:15PM_**

Draco moved quickly to Rose's side, aware that Hermione rushed to do the same, only to be held back by her husband. Without another word — shouted at full volume or otherwise — the Healer employed a few quick maneuvers to ensure blood flow returned to Rose's brain. It seemed she had fainted, and although he was worried beyond comprehension, he was also used to high pressure situations, and therefore maintained his calm, composed exterior.

Deep down, he was far from calm and composed, but he couldn't dwell on the scene that had taken place. His job, first and foremost, was to make sure Rose was okay.

Slowly, after one or two minutes, her eyes fluttered open.

"…that…went well…" the girl breathed, struggling to keep consciousness.

Were it possible, Draco would have smiled right then. But he couldn't relax until she was safe and healthy, and removed from the hardwood floor of the lounge. On cue, his eyes drifted to her parents; both of whom looked to him with combined fear and hesitation. Fear, with regards to Rose's health. Hesitation, with regards to him.

"She needs bed rest," he told them, driven by professionalism as opposed to the worry and adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Perhaps an extra day or two at home…should suffice…"

With a single nod, Ron levitated his daughter's unconscious form from the floor of the lounge and guided her up the stairs. Once his footsteps faded to silence, Hermione approached the Healer with both arms folded across her chest. Draco stood, brushing the knees of his trousers before looking to her, mentally and physically preparing himself for another slap across the face.

The brunette stared at him a long while, intense but wavering. It took about ten or twelve seconds before she opened her mouth to speak.

"You've done a horrible thing," Hermione voiced, sounding rather levelled despite her earlier outburst. "…a horrible, unspeakable thing."

Draco held his stance, feeling her words tear through his conviction from a deep, personal place. For some reason, he had not expected such a physical reaction from Granger. It shouldn't have surprised him, seeing as she had resorted to violence once before.

But it wasn't so much the slap that startled him, as it was the words behind it. _How could you. She's a child._ Those words, mingled with countless others, played and replayed in his subconscious like a broken record. Although his intentions were sincere and honourable, the Healer realized, rather quickly, that he would never get the chance to establish what he and Rose shared as more than just a _horrible, unspeakable thing_.

"How?" the brunette asked, looking to him with gaping disbelief. "How on earth did it happen?"

Draco opened his mouth, resolved to explain the issue because that was the least he could have done, but the words were caught in his throat. Further and further back, with each second.

Granger waited for him, tightening the look in her eyes until it fell apart. In a sweeping moment of desperation, she summoned her wand of vine and dragon heartstring core, and aimed for his chest, where she knew his heart would be. Just one second — one spell — and she could have rendered him unconscious or worse. As an Auror, she had both the skill and the authority to detain him right then and there, but the longer she waited, the more that wand began to tremble.

Part of him wished she would do it.

A different part of him gathered she didn't want to; that she couldn't; that the initial shock and betrayal was beginning to wear away.

Her wand clattered to the floor.

"Just go…" she dismissed, in a low, broken tone. "Please."

With no words to speak, there was no choice in the matter. Draco closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was confined in the bleak, empty walls of his flat.

* * *

><p><strong><em>11:45PM <em>**

Rose turned her back to the door and forced her eyes closed, waiting until the sound of her parents' footsteps faded into the corridor. Finally, she was left alone. Without a sound, she lifted the duvet from her body and tiptoed down the stairs for a drink of water. Only, the moment she reached the last step, was the moment she saw his coat and scarf hanging there in the foyer.

It seemed, through all the chaos, he had left his belongings.

Part of her wondered if he had done so, knowing she would find them, but another part of her didn't care enough to dwell on it. She raced down that final step and lifted his coat from the hook, clutching it to her body with an overwhelming sense of desperation. Her eyes slammed shut, and she sat at the foot of the staircase, holding his coat and allowing his scent to lap over her heart in warm waves.

She couldn't believe it was over.

**A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter! I apologize for the length, but I can assure you the next one will be a lot longer. By my count, the longest one yet. Anyway, tell me what you think/what you hope will happen! I'd love to know. **

**Cheers**

**xo. **


	16. The Constellation

**A/N: Chapter Sixteen! **

**_Five Months Later _**

**_11:45AM_**

Rose entered the train compartment, and took a moment to stow her trunk and other belongings in the overhead storage bin, before sitting down. It was the end of term, which meant the atmosphere aboard the train was fun and bursting from the seams with excitement. She thought to join the other Seventh Years — _former_ Seventh Years, actually — in the last car and have a drink of celebratory champagne, but for some reason, she had been feeling rather lightheaded. That in mind, she found her own space and opted to be alone for a little while, absorbed by the lush, rolling hills of Scotland.

About ten minutes into the journey, her attention drifted elsewhere.

She looked to the door and made sure the coast was clear, before retrieving something from the confines of her coat. It was a mirror; rectangular in shape and the size of her hand. She gazed deep into the reflective surface, sparing several seconds as she had done everyday for the past five months.

"I thought you threw that away."

She froze, looking forward to find Albus in the bench across from hers, and in his hands he held his inherited invisibility cloak.

"Merlin's tits — " Rose admonished, swatting him. "How long have you — Were you spying on me?"

He tossed her an obvious look. "Don't change the subject."

"Al."

"Rose."

She huffed. "Fine, I didn't throw the mirror away. So, what?"

"You don't have to justify your actions to me," he quickly inserted. "In case you've forgotten, I wasn't against your…relationship."

"It wasn't a relationship."

"Then what was it?"

She shrugged, steering her attention to the window, again "A complete and utter mind-fuck, for one."

"Sounds like a relationship to me," Albus snorted, playfully. "Come on. It's been five months. You've been away at school. You've dated other blokes, and you've now graduated at the top of our class."

"So?"

"_So_," he continued, catching her eyes. "If he's still on your mind, after all this time…maybe it's a sign."

Rose exhaled, looking downward. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see what happened. You didn't hear all those names…those accusations…" She closed her eyes, imagining the dinner party as she remembered it. "I…I want to go back in time, and just…see him again. I don't have to touch him, or talk to him, or make a sound. I just want to see him. I…that's all I want."

"Well, fuck." Albus tossed his arms in the air, exasperated. "You're an adult and you're now graduated. If you want to see him, then go over to his flat and see him."

She narrowed her eyes. "Al."

"Rose."

"It's not that simple."

"Why?" he asked, genuinely. "What part of 'seeing him' is complicated?"

"_Well _— " She tucked a couple strands of hair behind her ears, thinking. "It _has_ been five months. For all I know, he could've moved across the world, or started sleeping with some random slag, or reconciled matters with his ex-wife, or found a cure to whatever potion he'd been under during those fifteen days, or been thrown into Azkaban for what happened, or decided, out of the blue, that he never really cared about me to begin with, or —" By this point, her heart was beating fast. She breathed deeply, looking to her cousin with mingled frustration and helplessness. "What am I going to do? It's been five months, and I…I'm a fucking mess."

Albus said nothing. Instead, he wrapped his lanky arms around both of her shoulders and squeezed, sensing she needed a hug more than anything.

"Thanks," Rose mumbled. "You're my favourite cousin, you know that?"

His shoulders shook with laughter. "That actually means a lot, considering Dominique's endless supply of liquor."

With that, they pulled away and melted into separate thoughts. It took two or minutes, before another word was spoken, and only because the train jerked them out of their introspective states of mind.

Albus breathed out, running both hands through his hair. "I can't believe it's over," he voiced. "I can't believe we're never going back…"

Rose nodded. "It's surreal, isn't it? For seven years, we've been fantasizing about graduation and what it's going to be like, to be out there in the real world, and now that it's happening…"

"I don't know if I'm ready," he thought, out loud. "Are you ready?"

Thinking for no more than a few seconds, she shrugged. "I guess I'll find out, once I take that Port Key to America."

Albus focused on her. "So, you're actually going to travel for a year, then?"

"Much to Hermione and Ron's disappointment, yes." She couldn't help but laugh a little, thinking about the day she told them of her plans to see what the world had to offer, instead of taking up a job at the Ministry, like Albus planned to do. "To be honest, I think I _am_ ready. I think I've been ready for a long, _long_ time."

"Yeah," Albus nodded, as though he'd given it a fair amount of thought on his own. "Promise you'll write me?"

"Promise."

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:09PM<em>**

It was raining when he left the seminar for _Potions and Plant Poisoning_. As fate had decided, he'd been accepted into the programme and spent a large portion of his time Apparating between the Potions building at the London School for Healing, and St. Mungo's. Rarely, did he have enough time for a social life of any sort — much to Blaise's disappointment — but he needed a distraction, and throwing himself into _Potions and Plant Poisoning _seemed to do the trick in a wiser, longer lasting fashion than alcohol.

Draco retraced his steps into the hidden alleyway and spared one look over his shoulder, to make sure there were no Muggles around, before vanishing into the night.

About five minutes later, he was reclining in his desk chair, skimming some of the files that Nurse Hilda had left him. It seemed everything was sorted at the hospital. His patients were recovering at a healthy rate, with not one complication to speak of _for months_. To an outside looking in, he had every cause in the world to be ecstatic, and to celebrate the changes his career had undergone — but he couldn't.

No matter how hard he tried. No matter how much time he spent, in those seminars or at work or with friends — he couldn't.

Without meaning to, his attention drifted to the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. Just like that, the weight in his chest — the one he'd been ignoring for the past five months — sunk deeper and deeper, into his gut. Suddenly, his head was spinning in tight circles, and his eyes slammed shut.

It wasn't long after that, that there was a knock on his door.

"Healer Malfoy?"

Draco opened his eyes and straightened his posture, looking to the door to find one of the nurses standing there. "Alice," he greeted, forcing his lips into a smile. "What can I do for you?"

The young nurse shifted a little, before speaking. "You have a visitor, sir."

"A visitor?"

She nodded. "Ronald Weasley, in waiting room four."

"Ronal —" He cleared his throat, rather inelegantly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Shall I send him away?" Alice inquired, looking to him with a touch of fear in her eyes, as though she had done something wrong.

Draco opened his mouth, feeling the easiest solution rest on the tip of his tongue, but knowing, deep down, that it wasn't the right one. "Thank you, Alice, but that won't be necessary," he said. "Send him in."

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:15PM<em>**

On any normal weeknight, Godric's Hollow was as silent as the Hogwarts library, but that night was different. Guests and residents congregated in the village square, chatting and dancing and socializing. It seemed there was a celebration in order, as Rose, Albus and Dominique were _official alumni _of Hogwarts School, and for that reason_, _deserved a night of fun to look back on and remember. Plus, it was the perfect excuse to get the old gang together again. Everyone, from Kingsley Shacklebolt to Xenophilius Lovegood, was there.

In fact, the only guest to be denied entrance was Rita Skeeter.

For good reason, of course.

Rose stumbled out of her bedroom, having slipped in for a quick wardrobe change, as per her mother's request. More and more people arrived by the minute, which meant jeans and a t-shirt simply wouldn't suffice. It was no matter to Rose, seeing as her Port Key to America was scheduled for the following week and she was already starting to miss her mother's nagging.

"_Hurry up!_" Albus urged, waiting outside. "_I don't want to miss my song!_"

"Just — Just a second — " She fumbled with the straps on her heels, tossing them aside and opting for a simple pair of black pumps, before opening the door. "Okay, how do I look?"

Albus scanned her outfit, bottom to top. "You're channeling some serious Hepburn."

"Audrey or Katharine?"

"Does it matter?"

Rose opened her mouth, and then closed it. "Good point."

With that, the pair of them left the house and headed straight for the village square. The sound of music and chatter filled their ears, and within seconds they were in the company of the younger crowd. Dominique was there and appeared to be flirting with five different men at once. Hugo was also there, dancing with a cute girl from Ravenclaw, called Georgiana Nott. Rose thought to ask if she was related to Theodore Nott, the famous author, but there was no point in trying to hold a decent conversation.

The music was far too loud.

In the best possible way, of course.

In complete stealth-mode, Dominique swiped a bottle of fire whiskey from her parents' liquor cabinet and spiked everyone's drinks, apart from Hugo and Lily, as they were still quite young. From that point, the party started. Rose swallowed a mouthful, and although it burned her throat a little bit, she quite liked the sensation. The last time she had partied with her friends and cousins was a little over a year ago, to celebrate Victoire's birthday.

Because it had been such a long time, and because she was America-bound and wouldn't see her loved ones for ages — she decided not to hold back.

Rose finished the rest of her drink and tossed the empty cup aside, holding both arms high in the air, as she danced with her friends and sang along to the music. It was some cheesy Top 40 track, but she didn't care. For the first time in a long time, the weight on her shoulders was beginning to fade. With each second, she felt lighter and lighter — either from the alcohol or something else. It didn't matter. She danced and sang, and turned her head to the moon and the stars, as though those distant glimmering orbs held all the answers.

Only then, did she see it.

The constellation.

* * *

><p><strong><em>8:19PM<em>**

Draco turned away from the window.

For over five minutes, he endured deafening silence, waiting for Weasley to say or do something. But the red-haired wizard remained quiet, as though he were contemplating which words to say at which time. It was about ten minutes into it, that Draco decided he couldn't take the silence any longer.

"What's going on?" he asked, evenly. "Why are you here?"

Weasley looked at him, standing near the door, on the opposite side of the room. His expression was difficult to distinguish, but something was clear. Judging by his robes and the fact that his hair looked combed, he had left some sort of banquet or party or celebratory gathering to be there. It wasn't immediately obvious, but the pieces eventually fell into place.

"If you're here to give some sort of warning, now that she's —"

"Shut up."

Draco paused, mid-sentence.

"I don't understand it," Weasley said to him, with an incisive tone. "I don't want to understand it. I've tried, for five months now, to forget it; to forget the fact that I looked you in the eyes, shook your hand and thanked you for healing my daughter." He pointed one finger at the Healer. "I should have you arrested for even _looking_ at her."

"Why haven't you?" Draco asked, boldly, before he could stop himself.

Weasley narrowed his eyes, as though he were seconds from withdrawing his wand and putting an end to the conversation. But he didn't. Instead, he offered an answer — an unexpected one, at that.

"Because I'm a moron," he inserted. "Because I refuse to believe someone as smart and sensible as Rose would make such a _cataclysmic mistake_ without thinking it through."

Draco listened, first to the words, and then to the meaning behind them.

"Just tell me one thing," he furthered, looking at the Healer. "Why did you do it? Why did you bother?"

It was clear to Draco, what Ron was talking about. For the past five months he had asked himself that same question, wondering what on earth had possessed him into thinking Ron and Hermione would _ever _be okay with the truth. It was bound for disaster. It always had been. And the fact that he thought otherwise, for even a second, was nothing short of lunacy. But the answer was as clear to him, as the emotion behind it.

"I tried, because it was the least I could've done."

"Sounds like a fool's errand."

"I'd rather be a fool than a coward," Draco added, brazenly. "Being craven has never done me any favours. I'm sure you're well aware of that."

There was a fracture in Weasley's hardened exterior, and for a moment, he simply stared at the Healer — with a blend of distrust, wariness and hatred— before his countenance fell apart.

"You want to know why I'm here?" he asked, pointedly. "Because the way I see it, I don't have a choice. I'm her father, but I'm not her keeper, and I certainly have no control of her actions now that she's free to choose her own path."

Draco blinked. "You're not saying…"

"I am," the man nodded, once. "You're too old, too smug and too Slytherin, and as much as I would enjoy cursing you into oblivion — I can't, because Rose is bound for America in less than a week, and I would hate for her to spend that time resenting me."

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! I have an explanation on my Craft Rose blog (link in bio) if that interests you. Either way, thanks for reading this chapter! There's one more left, and I'm very, very excited for that one. I was originally going to take this chapter in a different direction, but I decided against that, and rewrote it last night. **


	17. The Flower

**A/N: Chapter Seventeen! I lied, this isn't the last one. **

**_12:00AM_**

Rose sat on the kiddie swings with Albus, feeling the grass tickle her feet as she kicked her high heel shoes off. It was nearing the end of the night, and although the party was still going strong — she was exhausted. Physically, emotionally, the whole nine. On one hand, she was excited for her overseas adventure and couldn't wait to take that Port Key to San Francisco…but on the other hand, she was reluctant.

Something about leaving didn't feel right, and it the moment she looked to the garden, she realized what it was.

Albus faced her. "What's on your mind?" he asked.

She blinked, looking from the garden to her cousin. "I've decided," she said to him. "I'm going to do it."

He looked at her questioningly. "…Do what?"

Rose breathed in, deeply. "I'm going to see him."

"See wh—" Her cousin froze, realization tugging at his facial features. "_Are you insane?_ Your parents are around the corner!"

She hopped off the swing. "That's why I need you to cover for me."

"How?" he asked, looking to her with an unsettled look in his eyes, as she slipped her black pumps back on. "Do you even know where he lives?"

"I can find out," the redhead reasoned, facing her cousin. "So what do you say? Will you cover for me?"

Albus opened his mouth, quickly, and then closed it. "I don't know, Rose. I — I realize I'm contradicting my earlier statements here, but I don't want to see you get hurt. If he — If he _did _change his mind about you, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not going there to rekindle anything," she explained. "I just…I need to know what he feels, if anything at all, and worst comes to worst, he'll give me the closure I need to move on. The last thing I want is to go to America, still thinking about him…still wondering what could have happened."

Her cousin exhaled, heavily, trying to wrap his mind around it. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Rose contemplated it for a moment, before shaking her head. "I need to do this on my own."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "It's important that I do."

* * *

><p><strong><em>1:00AM<em>**

It was about an hour later, that she managed to find his building.

Because he was connected to the Floo Network, the task of finding him had been elementary — at best. All she had to do was search his first and last name in the Floo Directory, and there she was, on the front doorstep of his flat building, in one of the most expensive areas of wizarding Britain.

Somehow, it started to rain the moment she left Godric's Hollow, which left her hair and traveling cloak soaked bottom to top. For a moment there, she contemplated returning home and scrapping the plan — but she had come too far to quit over some stupid rain.

Rose breathed in, levelling her thoughts and doing as best she could to find the slightest shred of composure, before raising a single digit to the buzzer. Granted, it was late and he was probably asleep, and she should seriously have sent him a letter or done something a little less crazy than showing up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, but once again…she had come too far to turn back.

"Hello?"

There was a hitch in her chest, the moment she heard his voice. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain that she had to talk to him and discuss what happened (or didn't happen) between them…but the words just wouldn't come out. She stood there, drenched and alone, for another twenty seconds before the rain intensified, coaxing one name from her lips.

"Draco?" she spoke, leaning closer to the speaker box, with her eyes closed.

It happened soon after that.

There was no response from him. Instead, she waited outside in silence, as the storm penetrated her defences, leaving her wet and annoyed, and about ready to call it a night, before the front door to the building swung open.

Rose tilted her head up, swiftly.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, holding the door open with one hand, whilst ushering her inside with the other. "You're soaking wet."

She wasn't sure what to say or do, so she followed him inside and held her breath. Only then, did she realize her teeth were chattering, and that she had goose bumps all over her arms and legs, and the back of her neck.

Draco untied her traveling cloak and draped it over his arm, relieving some of the coldness and wetness from her body, before wiping the wet, fiery red strands of hair from her forehead. "Are you okay?" he asked, sweeping her up in a single look, waiting for her response. "Rose?"

Suddenly, her eyes slammed shut and she was shivering.

Without another moment to waste, the handsome Healer wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her shoulders up and down, in an attempt to keep her warm. "You're freezing," he said to her, voice laced with concern. "One more second in that rain and you would have caught hypothermia."

Rose tried to smile in response to his melodrama but all she managed to do was shiver against him.

"Come on," he voiced. "Let's get you out of these clothes."

* * *

><p><strong><em>1:20AM<em>**

Draco rummaged through his wardrobe and gathered a white t-shirt, along with pyjama bottoms and a fluffy towel before entering the lounge. There, he found Rose, seated across the fireplace with her hands outstretched and the bright blue of her eyes focused on the embers, as they flickered far from the burning logs and danced through mid-air.

Reluctant to break her concentration, the Healer waited as long as he could before penetrating the silence with the sound of his footsteps.

In that same moment, Rose shifted her attention from the fireplace to the doorway, and looked to Draco with a faint smile across her lips. "Hi…" she voiced, rising from the floor and meeting him there, as he neared.

"Hi," he smiled, extending the clothes and towel to her, in a neat bundle. "I — er — I'm not sure these will fit, but here…"

She looked to the bundle and then down at her dress. Given that it was still damp from the rain, the skirt of the dress clung to her inner thighs and left little to the imagination. An imminent blush coloured her cheeks, when she glanced at him. "Would you mind…erm…" Rose mimed the action. "I can't reach the zip…"

The moment he realized what she had asked of him, he leaned back an inch or two and caught scent of her hair, as she turned around.

Between his thumb and index finger, he dragged the zipper down, ignoring the heat that danced across his face and neck, as the dress loosened around her torso. Slowly, there was a shift in the atmosphere. Draco breathed in, as Rose breathed out, and in that same moment, she leaned back, as he leaned forward.

"Draco…" she murmured, tilting her head to the side, making room for his, as he dipped it into the crevice of her neck.

Neither of them were fully aware of what was happening. Only, that it was bound to happen; that it should have happened a long time ago.

Draco kissed her neck, leaving imprints of his affection on her soft, freckled skin. There was a part between her lips, as she breathed in and out, careful not to move too fast or moan too loud. It seemed their previous interactions had worked to harness her desires somewhat — out of fear that the Healer would come to his senses too soon.

"I missed you," he said to her, brushing his lips along her shoulder. "…and I'm so happy we don't have to hide this anymore."

Rose melted into his touch and into the sound of his voice, unaware of the meaning behind his words, until each syllable repeated in her subconscious over and over and over again. Only then, did her eyes open, and only then, did she turn around and face him with flecks of confusion in her eyes.

"I…I don't understand…"

Draco reflected that look, until the truth carved its way to the surface. "You don't know?" he asked, with a slight raise to his brow. "Your parents didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" she put forth, searching through his countenance for some form of an explanation. "What's this about? Did — Did something happen to you? Did they threaten you?"

On pure instinct, he broke out into a smile and his shoulders shook with an unexpected wave of laughter. "Rose…I…I'm not sure how this happened, but…we're in the clear. Your father visited my office earlier on and told me he and your mother have changed their minds about us." With that, Draco leaned forward and kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger for an extra couple seconds, before releasing. "I had no idea they didn't tell you. I just assumed since you were here, you knew…"

Rose blinked, looking at him as though he were insane. "I didn't know. I…I thought we were over. I thought…I thought there was no chance in hell we would ever _see_ each other again, let alone…"

Draco leaned back about an inch, watching the highs and lows cling to her eyelashes and tug at the corners of her lips.

"I came here for closure," she voiced, quietly, tilting her head to the floor, as though she couldn't bear to look at him. "I'm leaving the continent in less than a week. I — I don't understand why my parents would do this _now_."

"I do."

She sniffed. "You do?"

Without another word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. "It's not in my nature to care for someone, the way I care about you," he explained, running his fingers through her hair and calming her, as she listened. "Your parents know that about me. What they also know, is that their daughter is a bright, brilliant witch with an amazing future ahead of her…and I refuse to stand in the way of that."

"You're not saying…"

"I am," he broke through, leaning back a couple inches. "You're going to go to America, travel around the world, and do all the things you told me you would, the first time we met."

Rose exhaled, feeling rather exasperated. "But…"

"I'll wait for you," he voiced, brushing his lips along the bridge of her nose, kissing her there. "One month or five. One year or ten. It doesn't matter. All that matters is right here, right now…"

She closed her eyes, suppressing the lingering emotion. It was clear, by the look on her face, that she didn't disagree with the words coming out of his mouth. Regardless of the respect and admiration he held for her, there was still an imbalance between them. She was mature enough to know that, and most importantly, the reason she had to travel, see the world and grow as an individual before committing to any sort of romantic relationship; with him or not.

Rose sighed, looking up at him with moist eyes. "This is so bittersweet."

"Tell me about it…" he echoed. "You'll be old and gross by the time you're back."

She gaped at him, swatting his chest. "You cheeky little shit!"

Draco burst with laughter, taking the playful hits in good spirits, before his former patient lost her footing and fell forward, directly onto him. Whether or not it was an accident was up for debate, but he didn't mind either way. The moment she fell, he caught her.

"You're in big trouble," she murmured. "…_big_ trouble."

An inevitable smirk tugged at his lips, reminding her that he was Slytherin, and every bit as wicked as Salazar. Healer or not, he was still Draco Malfoy.

"I'll make it up to you," he teased. "If you'll let me, that is."

Her eyes widened a little. "That depends…" she inserted, aware of the heat that dashed below her abdomen.

"On?"

Rose smiled. "On whether there's a Chinese restaurant open this late."


	18. Hers

**A/N: Chapter Eighteen! **

**_2:00AM _**

Draco took the last piece of almond chicken between his chopsticks and fed it to Rose, laughing with her as some sauce dribbled down her chin. Given the hour, there weren't many Chinese restaurants open for business, but the Healer did manage to find one not too far from his building. So, he went to pick up the food, whilst Rose stayed behind to owl Albus and freshen up.

Because of the circumstances, and because she felt a little guilty for putting her cousin in such an awkward situation, she decided to owl her parents as well, and explain to them where she was and what she was doing. It wasn't the _easiest _decision but it was the right one and although their response was less than enthusiastic — she could tell they were pleased with her for being honest and handling the situation like an adult.

About twenty minutes later, Draco returned with the food and arranged an intimate setting in the lounge — with candles, music and a little eating area across the fireplace.

"You've outdone yourself," Rose commented, holding a hand to her mouth as she chewed. "Chinese food and Sam Smith? Lethal combination."

Draco cracked a smile, leaning back on the ottoman and choosing simply to watch her, as she finished off the food. She certainly didn't hold a candle to her father as the messiest eater but the sauce on her chin combined with the speed at which she attacked the food was absolutely priceless.

It took about thirty seconds, before she realized his eyes were on her.

"What is it?" she asked, covering her mouth. "Do I have something on my face?"

Draco suppressed the urge to laugh, and instead shifted closer to her, using a napkin to wipe the sauce from her chin. "There," he voiced, bouncing one look from her chin, to her eyes, catching the blush that coloured her cheeks. "…all gone."

She smiled. "I could get used to this."

"Having sauce on your chin?"

"No!" she laughed, playfully nudging him. "I just…I've always had trouble opening up to people…but it's different with you. It always has been."

"I know what you mean," he nodded, thinking back with a distant smile on his face. "I remember the first time we met. It was late at night, and I came into the room expecting to find a carbon copy of your parents, but instead I found a quick-witted, engaging young woman who, from that first second, could see right through me as though I were made of glass. I'm not sure if it was the banter or the intellect, or a merger of the two, but I found myself thinking about her a lot; about what I could do to brighten her day, the way she did for me."

Rose looked to him, moist-eyed. "When did you know?" she asked, quietly, as though part of her knew the answer.

Draco stared into the fireplace. "The night Judith passed on," he explained, confirming her suspicions. "I…I couldn't stop thinking about what I would have done, had the same thing happened to you. It worried me more than I had anticipated. At the time, I misinterpreted those feelings as some sort of liability I felt towards your health, being your physician and all, but it was more than that. I wanted to _know_ you. I couldn't fathom the idea of walking into that room, without seeing or talking to you, or having you there to call me out on my bullshit."

A small smile flickered across her lips. "Have no fear," she winked, folding both arms behind her head. "I'll always be there to do that."

His shoulders shook with laughter. "So, tell me then. When did _you_ know?"

"When did I know?" she repeated, breathing in. "Hmm. Let's think. I'd say I knew the _second _I was admitted into that hospital — because let's face it — that whole brooding thing you have going on is pretty irresistible."

There was a raise in his brow, as he looked at her, amusedly. "Oh, really?"

She nodded, tossing him another wink. "I was attracted to you from the get go," Rose continued. "…but I realized I had feelings for you when…well…when Liam visited me the second time, and all I could do was compare him to you. It was weird. I figured it was a stupid crush, because you're hot and smart and older, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. I started relying on your visits for more than just regular Healer stuff. I liked you, _a lot_."

"Is that the reason you were…reading a certain book?"

She snorted, lips twitching with laughter. "Not a chance. I did that solely to fuck with you."

Draco grimaced. "You're too Slytherin for your own good."

"So I've been told," she smiled, looking to him with an indecipherable look in her eyes, before blowing out the surrounding candles. "I think I'm about ready for you to make it up to me."

His eyes widened a little. "What do you mean?"

Rose tossed him an obvious look, folding her arms. "Fine," she decided. "If you insist on playing dumb, I'll make the first move."

Draco opened his mouth to object but all that came out was a heavy, rooted sigh as Rose climbed on his lap and brought their lips together in a kiss that rippled down to his core. Without a second of thought, he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her onto the large, leather ottoman. She had her legs criss-crossed around his mid-section, and her hands working furiously to unbutton his shirt.

Given that he'd been working late that night, he hadn't changed before bed and he was still dressed in day clothes.

In the back of his mind, he was man enough to admit to himself that he had wanted her for ages, but for obvious reasons, he waited until the right time to act on those feelings. Rose wanted him just as bad, but he had to be sure she wouldn't regret it.

She had to be ready.

And the look that dashed through her eyes, as she undid the last button on his shirt, told him she was more than ready.

Draco shrugged the shirt off, tossing it behind his back and watching as she drank him in with those bright blue orbs. It had been a long time since any woman had seen him nude or partially so, which made that moment all the more nerve-racking — but something about sharing it with Rose caused his insides to knot up…as though he were an inexperienced adolescent all over again.

She blinked, bouncing her attention from his abdomen to his eyes. "Do you have any idea how attractive you are?"

He laughed, bowing his head down to kiss her.

"Seriously," she voiced, slipping words in, between kisses. "What…are you even…doing with me?"

Draco broke away, tossing her an obvious look. "If that's you're attempt at fishing for compliments, I'll bite." He pulled her into upright position and sat across from her on the leather ottoman, kissing her and tracing her sides with the tips of his fingers, as he spoke. "I've told you numerous times how brilliant and full of _wit _I think you are, but there's a lot I haven't told you."

Rose stirred against him, feeling her eyes slam shut, as his fingertips traced the small of her back, under the shirt he'd given her.

"Do you remember the night I rubbed that cream right here?" he asked her, whispering the words directly into her ear. "Your skin felt so soft." It didn't surprise him, when her body quivered against his touch, absorbed in it the moment his fingertips traveled higher. "I could tell you liked it, because for the first time since we met, there were no quips or witty remarks out of that mouth. You were dead silent," he continued, dragging his fingertips along her upper back, causing the shirt to rise and causing her to quiver again, as his lips brushed her earlobe. "…I would have given anything to know what was going through your mind."

She bit her bottom lip, breathing in and out…soft, but hard…slow, but fast. Consciously or not, she arched her back towards him and quivered for the third time, thinking about the night in question. "Should…Should I tell you now?"

Draco smiled, kissing down her neck. "I think you should."

Rose opened her mouth, finding the words as best she could. "I thought…I thought about…what it would feel like…to be touched…in other places…"

"Spare no details," he murmured, shifting behind her. "Okay?"

The drum in her ribcage intensified. "O…Okay," she managed to say. "I…I wanted your hands on…on my breasts…"

"Like this?" he asked.

She exhaled, bowing her head down and moaning softly. "_Y…Yes…_"

Draco kissed the back of her neck, easing her into it as his fingertips glided to her front and outlined the under curve of her small, but firm breasts. She trembled in response, melting into the movements and into him, the second he began to knead them.

She was soft against his hands.

Part of him wished to turn her around and strip away the remaining layers between them, before kissing every inch of her body, but he couldn't. It was too soon. The night had only just begun, and he was intent on moving slow and making sure she wanted it as bad as he did. Judging by the manner in which her hips started to roll against the ottoman, creating friction between her body and the leather, he gathered she needed his hands elsewhere.

"Draco," she murmured. "Please…lower…"

The sound of her voice like that, lathered in fast building desire, caused his muscles to tighten.

"Lower?" he echoed, feeling the roll of her body as she struggled to placate her natural urges. "Turn around for me, Rose. I want to see you."

With a small sound of impatience, she did as he instructed and shifted until their eyes met. Draco brushed a couple fingers under her chin and brought their lips together, in a smooth kiss. Only lips. She trembled against him, in a way that told him this way of kissing was foreign to her, that her previous experiences with partners long past had started and ended in the space of a single beat, maybe two.

Not unusual, given her age.

"May I?" he asked, touching the bottom hem of her t-shirt, earning a single nod from her, as though she were timid but ready and willing all the same.

Rose leaned back, closing her eyes and raising her arms, as Draco brushed the shirt up and over her head, with only his fingertips. Suddenly, the cold in the room combined with the heat beneath the surface of her skin, caused her breasts to tingle in response.

Draco tossed the shirt aside, paying no mind to it, as his eyes swam up and down the nakedness of her torso.

She bit her bottom lip, lightly, looking at him. "I…I know they're small, but — "

"They're perfect," he interjected, leaning in. "_You're_ perfect."

Again, her breasts tingled under the depth of his desire…and then he was kissing her…and then she was kissing back…and then his fingertips found the pinnacles of her breasts, teasing them as their tongues met in a dance of catch and release.

Rose tugged on his bottom lip between her teeth, grazing it, causing him to groan with deep, uninhibited satisfaction.

"Touch me…" she instructed, breathing the words directly over his lips.

Draco smiled faintly, allowing his hands to drift from her breasts, down her torso, to the waistband of the pyjama bottoms he'd given her. With one tug, he loosened the drawstring and brushed a couple fingers underneath. Rose tensed, breathing in and out, and struggling to maintain her composure, as his fingers drifted lower…through the brush of red…and lower…where he worked to detangle the knot that bound her muscles so tight.

With his free hand, he combed her hair back, carefully, feeling every inch of her body respond to his movements. She quivered, burying her head into the crevice of his neck and holding onto him, as he pleasured her. It wasn't the fast, heated undertaking she had imagined. It was better.

It was slow and steady, and made her insides toss and turn with desire she had never known.

For once, he wasn't resisting her efforts. For once, he took matters into his own hands — literally — and showed her the truth behind his stormy eyes, the truth he had buried so deep, for so long.

In a matter of seconds she came apart, crying out and tensing and grasping at him, as his middle and right index finger detangled the first knot in slow, tight circles, before moving to the second. Caught in the throes of what had happened, Rose barely noticed when he outlined her entrance, learning the shape and the feel and the nature of her femininity.

She tightened her hold on him, and then released, breathing heavily, falling apart in his arms, with her head pressed to his chest.

It took him a moment to realize the silence that enveloped her wasn't out of exhaustion, but out of embarrassment.

Draco tilted her chin up, making direct eye contact with her as he spoke. "I have never seen anything so stunning in my life," he told her, referring to what he had just witnessed. "If you don't mind, I would very much like to see it again and again and again…and again…and again…and…"

Her bottom lip quivered, allowing a soft, fragmented moan to escape, as he slid a single digit into the heat of her core, claiming her.

"…again…and again…and…again…" he continued.

Rose grasped his shoulders, steadying the tremors that ran down her body, as best she could. She couldn't speak. She couldn't see. She could only see and feel and touch and tilt her head back with ecstasy, as wave after wave of blinding passion surged through her bloodstream.

Again, she came undone, beckoned by his movements, falling from the cliff and into his arms.

"Bloody hell_…_" she breathed, directly against his pectoral muscles. "I…I've never been touched like that before."

There was a note of surprise in Draco's eyes. "Never?" he asked, earning a nod from her. "Your ex-boyfriend is a bigger idiot than I thought."

Rose leaned back, gaping at him. "Healer Malfoy…" she exclaimed. "What an outrageous thing to say." A small, cheeky little smile tugged at her lips. "…outrageously true, that is."

Draco laughed, lifting her up onto his lap, from where he delivered a swift peck to her lips. "You're cute sometimes."

"Please," she snorted. "I'm adorable."

"…and beautiful," he added, kissing her forehead. "So beautiful."

Rose chewed on her bottom lip. "Do you really think so?"

"Do I really think so?" the Healer repeated, searching through her eyes for some indication that was joking, only to realize she was serious. "Rose…If I could, I would put into words how amazing I think you are, but there's no words for _this _in any language."

She looked at him, waiting for him to explain, until he took her hand in his and placed it flat against his chest, over the hard, heavy beat of his heart. It was clear to her then, that she did that to him. The feeling consumed her, to the point that she strongly considered mauling him right then and there.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, as though he already knew.

Rose met his gaze with one of her own, and communicated her thoughts to him in four words. "Show me your bedroom."

Draco stared at her, waiting for a punchline that never came. It was clear to him then, what she wanted and how badly he wanted it, too. Just like that, he stood and helped her do the same, leaning down to kiss her, before they made their way out of the lounge and through the corridor. Hand in hand, the Healer guided his patient to the master bedroom.

It was the largest room in his flat and carried his scent of musk and cologne — the same scent that was caught in his trench coat. Rose stopped mid-way through, breathing in and feeling her cheeks flush as she remembered. For five months, she had tried her absolute hardest to forget that scent and him, but she couldn't.

Pushing those memories aside, the young witch drifted to the bed, slipping off the pyjama bottoms as she went, and drawing her lover's attention with each step.

She climbed onto the bed, feeling the wet heat between her legs build to an undeniable, unfathomable state of arousal, as her body turned. In that same moment, she faced him, leaning back on her elbows, with her knees up and spread apart.

Draco stood at the doorway, hanging on the cusp for as long as he could. In the second that followed, his inhibitions began to peel away, layer by layer. She watched it happen. She watched him lean forward and then back, in an attempt to control his appetite, before giving away, before moving towards the bed and finding her in the middle.

She breathed in through her nostrils, started but delighted, as Draco found her lips in the deepest, hardest kiss he'd ever given her, fisting her hair and tilting her head back, applying just enough force to make her scalp prickle with heat.

"Y…Yes…" she moaned, marking his back with her fingernails.

His tongue entered her mouth, and his hand slid between her legs, teasing her, readying her, causing her to melt under the heat of his touch.

Rose grasped him, slinging her arms around his neck and pressing her bare chest to his, as she reached climax for the third time. Panting and delirious, she twisted against the duvet, riding the waves of her orgasm.

Draco combed her hair back, calming her with his sensual kisses. "We don't have to do this," he assured her. "If…If you're not ready, we can wait."

"Aren't you tired of waiting?"

"I…"

"I am," she inserted, looking up at him. "I want this. I want _you_."

There was affection in his eyes, as he lowered, kissing her. "I'm yours."

She opened her mouth to him, meeting his lips and his tongue, feeling her entire body respond to his kiss as though it was designed solely for her. For five months, she tried to forget about this man, their inside jokes, the many days she had spent in the hospital, waiting for him to visit, dreaming about him, about what it would be like to feel his body moving with hers, intimately and without fear.

Luckily, she didn't have to dream or wait any longer. That night, he made love to her for the first time.

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Please tell me what you think. I would love to know. On another note, it's been taking longer than expected to finish this story, and I apologize for that, but we're almost there. Recently, I just haven't found the time to sit down and write. It's been a struggle, but I'm working on it. **

**Anyway, I hope you're having a great day/night! **

**Thanks, again. **

**(For anyone curious, we will find out how exactly Blaise handled the Astoria situation) **


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